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UNIVERSITY 
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MODERN 
PLAYS 


EDITED  BY 

R.  BRIMLEY  JOHNSON 

AND 

N.  ERICHSEN 


*    V 


Authorised  Translation 
All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

(A  FAMILY  CATASTROPHE) 
BY  GERHART  HAUPTMANN 


TRANSLATED  BY 

FANET  ACHURCH 


2.  E.  WHEELER 


NDON 

UCKWORTH   &  CO. 
HENRIETTA  STREET,  W.C. 


w. 


PREFACE 

4 

A  FEW  words  about  the  author  of  "  Friedensfest,"  which 
is  here  translated  as  "The  Coming  of  Peace,"  will  possibly 
be  of  interest  to  readers.  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  who  is 
still  a  comparatively  young  man,  is  as  yet  little  known 
to  English  readers,  and  wholly  unknown  to  English  play- 
goers, except  for  the  performance  of  this  play  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Stage  Society  on  the  10th  of  June  1900, 
which  has  given  occasion  for  this  translation.  In  German- 
speaking  countries  he  is  recognised  by  many  as  the 
greatest  modern  dramatist  with  the  single  exception  of 
Henrik  Ibsen. 

He  is  certainly  the  only  dramatist  who,  writing  under 
•the  inspiration  of  the  great  Norwegian  poet,  can  by  any 
remotest  possibility  be  considered  to  have  advanced  a 

..step  beyond  his  master  in  dramatic  treatment  of  the 

>  inner  social  forces  of  modern  life. 

It  is  not  my  intention  here  to  do  more  than  draw 

o  attention   to    the   place  Friedensfest   occupies    chrono- 

^logically  among  its  author's  works,  and  to  point  out 
its  probable  source  of  inspiration.  Those  who  wish 

"  to  trace  the  author's  career  up  to  three  years  ago — he  is 
now  only  thirty-eight — may  be  recommended  to  read 
"Gerhart  Hauptmann,  sein  Lebensgang  und  seine  Dich- 
tung,"  written  just  after  the  publication  of  "Die  Ver- 
sunkene  Glocke,"  by  Dr  Paul  Schlenther,  the  gifted 

v 


critic,  now  manager  of  the  Vienna  Court  Theatre.  I 
may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to  quote  the  final  sentences 
of  that  book  to  show  the  high  hopes  entertained  in 
Germany  of  Hauptmann's  future.  "At  thirty-five  years 
old,"  writes  Dr  Schlenther,  "he  is  a  famous  man.  He 
stands  at  life's  zenith.  Half  the  Scriptural  age  lies  behind 
him.  The  best  years  of  the  strength  and  ripeness  of  man- 
hood lie  close  ahead  of  him.  We  wait  for  what  shall 
come." 

"  Friedensfest "  was  played  in  1890,  when  Hauptmann 
was  twenty-seven,  eight  years  before  these  lines  were 
penned.  It  was  preceded  by  "  Vor  Sonnenaufgang  "  in 
1889 — the  first  utterance  which  gave  more  than  local 
fame  to  its  author — and  was  succeeded  by  "  Einsame 
Menschen  "  in  1891.  Of  his  later  works  "Die  Weber"  and 
"  Hannele  "  have  already  been  translated  into  English. 

In  "  Friedensfest "  and  "  Einsame  Menschen "  the 
influence  of  Ibsen  can  be  traced  more  distinctly  than  in 
any  of  Hauptmann's  other  works.  "  Friedensfest "  recalls 
in  many  respects  Ibsen's  "Ghosts,"  without  any  servile 
copying  on  the  part  of  the  younger  author — who  has 
presented  his  characters  with  a  power  and  originality,  a 
truth  and  subtlety  peculiarly  his  own.  Moreover  he  has 
not  been  so  relentless  as  Ibsen.  Although  the  "  Family 
Catastrophe,"  as  he  calls  it,  is  gloomy  enough,  in  a  sense 
the  play  ends  more  hopefully ;  the  doom  has  not  fallen 
on  the  younger  members  of  the  Scholz  family,  with  whose 
hereditary  qualities  the  play  chiefly  deals,  and  we  are 
permitted  to  hope,  if  we  choose,  that  it  may  never  fall. 
Hauptmann's  genius  shows  itself  here  of  a  softer  and 
less  uncompromising  mould  than  Ibsen's.  We  feel  that 
in  as  far  as  the  play  has  any  tendency,  it  leans  rather 

vi 


PREFACE 

towards  meliorism  than  pessimism.  Like  Ibsen's  later 
works,  however,  it  is  more  objective  in  treatment  than 
"  Ghosts  " — more  a  "  family  document "  pure  and  simple, 
than  a  "  tendency  "  drama. 

But  it  is  not  my  business  here  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
play  or  to  attempt  any  interpretation.  I  have  merely 
helped  to  render  it  into  English. 

In  translating,  we  have  tried  to  give  the  broken, 
elliptical  language  in  which  Hauptmann's  characters 
express  themselves,  as  faithfully  as  possible — to  keep 
the  half-finished  sentences  and  interjaculatory  outbursts 
without  losing  anything  of  the  meaning  of  the  play. 
Here  and  there,  the  rude  colloquialism  of  the  speakers, 
especially  of  Mrs  Scholz  and  Friebe,  have  rendered  our 
task  almost  impossible.  We  can  only  plead  that  we 
have  done  our  best. 

JANET  ACHURCH. 


Vll 


* 

* 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 


PERSONS 

DR  FRITZ  SCHOLZ,  aged  68. 
MINNA  SCHOLZ,  his  wife,  aged  46. 
AUGUSTA,^  aged  29. 

EGBERT,     V  their  children,  aged  28. 
WILLIAM,  J  aged  26. 

So  far  as  possible  the  above  should  show 

a  family  likeness. 
MRS  BUCHNER,  aged  42. 
IDA,  her  daughter,  aged  20. 
FRIEBE,  servant  to  the  Scholzs,  aged  50. 

The  Play  takes  place  on  Christmas  Eve  188 — ,  in  a  lonely 
country  house,  near  Erkner,  in  Brandenburg. 


fr. 


A  high,  roomy,  white-washed  Hall — hung  with  old-fashioned 
pictures  —  horns  and  heads  of  different  animals.  A 
chandelier  of  stag's  horns  hanging  from  the  middle  of  the 
roof-tree  is  filled  with  fresh  candles.  At  the  back,  in  the 
middle  of  the  wall,  is  a  porch,  which  projects  into  the 
hall,  with  a  glass  door,  through  which  is  seen  the  heavy 
carved  oaken  door  of  the  house.  On  the  top  of  the  porch 
is  a  stuffed  moorcock  :  right  and  left  above  the  level  of 
the  porch  are  windows — frozen  and  partly  dim  with  snow. 

To  the  left  is  an  open  arch,  built  like  a  gateway — which  leads 
by  the  staircase  to  the  upper  stories.  Two  low  doors  in 
the  same  wall  lead — one  to  the  cellar,  the  other  to  the 
kitchen. 

Two  other  doors  in  the  opposite  wall  both  open  into  one  room  ; 
between  these  stands  an  old  grandfather's  clock,  on  the 
top  of  which  squats  a  stuffed  screech-owl.  The  furniture 
of  the  room  consists  of  heavy  old  oak  chairs  and  tables : 
parallel  to  the  left  wall  is  a  table  covered  with  a  white 
cloth.  Down  the  stage  to  the  left  is  a  small  iron  stove, 
the  flue  of  which  runs  along  the  wall.  All  the  doors  are 
gaily  coloured,  the  panels  filled  with  old-fashioned  paint- 
ings of  parrots,  etc. 

ACT  I 

The  hall  is  decorated  with  green  branches.    A  Christmas  tree 
is  lying  on  the  stone  flags.    Friebe,  sitting  on  the  topjjf^ 
the  cellar  steps,  is  making  a  socket  for  it ;  Mrs  Bucmier 
/a"nd  Mrs  Scholz,  standing  on  either  side  of  the  table,  are 
j  busy  fastening  gay  coloured  wax  candles  into  their  holders. 
1  Mrs  Buchner  is  a  healthy  looking,  well  nourished,  friendly 
1 *3 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 



raced  woman,  simple,  genuine  and  very  neatly  dressed 
wears  her  hair  smooth  :  her  movements  are  decided  and 
she  is  entirely  at  her  ease.  Her  whole  appearance  expresses 
an  unusual  cordiality  which  is  thoroughly  sincere,  even  if 
at  times  her  manner  suggests  affectation.  Her  way  of 
speaking  is  fluent  and  clear,  and  in  moments  of  excitement 
declamatory  ;  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  well-being 
seems  to  emanate  from  her.  Mrs  Scholz,  on  the  contrary, 
is  a  woman  who  looks  older  than  she  is,  showing  signs  of 
premature  old  age.  She  is  unhealthily  fat,  with  a  sallow 
skin.  Her  dress  is  untidy,  her  hair  grey  and  unkempt  ; 
she  wears  spectacles.  Mrs  Scholz  is  fidgety  in  her  move- 
ments, restless,  has  generally  a  tearful  or  whining  way  of 
speaking  and  is  evidently  in  a  continual  state  of  excite-  • 
ment.  Whilst  Mrs  Buchner  seems  only  to  live  for  others, 
Mrs  Scholz  is  completely  occupied  with  herself. 
On  the  table  stand  two  five-branched  candlesticks,  fitted  with 
candles ;  but  neither  these  nor  the  candles  in  the  chandelier 
are  lighted.  There  is  a  lamp  burning. 

FRIEBE  (striking  a  blow  with  his  hatchet). 
Not  a  stroke  fails  me ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ffff !  !  !  But  I  can't  stand  it,  Friebe  !  How  often  have 
I  told  you.  .  .  .  You  might  easily  break  the  hatchet. 
The  idea !  chopping  wood  on  stone ! 

FRIEBE. 

You  leave  that  to  me !  What !  wasn't  I  ten  years  in  the 
regiment  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
In  the  regiment  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

He  was  head  man  in  the  royal  forests. 

4 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

• 
FRIEBE. 

Not— (Ji£  strikes  again)  a  blessed — (strikes')  stroke 
/\He  stands  up,  looks  at  his  work  by  the  lamp 

I         then  fastens  the  Christmas  treeTso 

/  '^~~""Ji  r " 

'         is  sniall,  already  a  little 


bandy-legged,  and  has  a  bald  head.  His  small, 
mobile,  little  monkey  face  is  unshaven.  His  hair 
and  stubble  beard  are  yellowish  grey.  He  -is  a 
jack-of -all-trades.  His  coat,  stiff  with  a  mixture 
of  plate  powder,  oil,  boot-blacking  and  dust,  was 
cut  for  a  man  twice  his  size,  so  that  the  sleeves 
are  tucked  up  and  the  skirts  overlap  considerably. 
His  brown  servant's  apron  is  no  cleaner  than  his 
coat :  from  under  it  from  time  to  time  he  brings 
out  a  snuff-box  and  takes  snuff  with  intense  satis- 
faction. The  tree  made  firm,  he  puts  it  on  the 
fe^sfands  in  front  and,  gazes  at  it. 


FRIEBE. 

A  real — bonny — well-set-up — little  firtyee  !  (with  con- 
descending superiority  to  the  women)  you  don't  think 
so — eh  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

As  an  old  forester,  you  should  be  the  best  judge  of 
that. 

FRIEBE. 

Well,  certainly,  that  would  be  rather  too  much ;  as  to 
what  a  fir  tree  is — 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (interrupting  him  impatiently). 

We  really  mustn't  keep  you  here,  Friebe ;  my  daughter 
expressly  said,  "send  Friebe  for  me." 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

FRIEBE. 

H'm  —  tch  —  for  all  I  care  ! 

[Goes  out  through  the  kitchen  door,  making  a  con- 
temptuous gesture. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Are  you  vexed  with  him  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

I  should  think  so.     Tiresome  idiot  !     If  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  husband  —  there,  you  see,  that's  my  husband  all 
over.  —  This   old  snuffler  —  Nothing   else   would   do, 
he  must  have  him  about  the  whole  day,  or  else  he 
wasn't  content     Did  you  ever  know  such  a  man  ? 
[Enter  Augusta  from  outside  in  haste  and  alarm  : 
once  inside,  she  shuts  the  glass  door  violently 
and  throws  herself  against  it  as  though  to  prevent 
some  one  from  coming  in.] 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (most  violently  startled). 
OhGod-oh-God-oh-God!M 

MRS  BUCHNER, 


[Augusta  is  tall,  lanky,  and  noticeably  thin:  she 
is  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion  but  with- 
out any  taste.  Fur  jacket,  fur  cap  and  muff. 
The  face  and  the  feet  are  long  :  the  face  is 
sharply  cut  and  bitter  featured,  with  thin  lips 
tightly  pressed  together.  She  wears  a  lorgnette. 
Her  nature  unites  with  her  mother's  excita- 
r  some  tit  ing  of  a  pathologically  disagreeable 
6 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

character.  Her  personality  diffuses  round  it  an 
atmosphere  of  discontent,  dissatisfaction  and  com- 
fortlessness.] 

AUGUSTA. 

Out  there !  — as  true  as  I'm  here — someone — was  follow- 
ing me. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (pointing  to  the  clock). 

William,  perhaps. — No !  not  yet.  The  train  can't  be  in 
yet.  (To  Augusta)  Wait  a  moment ! 

[She  puts  out  her  hand  to  open  the  door. 

AUGUSTA. 

No !    No !— No !     No ! 

MRS  BUCHNER  (in  a  cooing  manner). 

You're  nervous,  dear  child.  (She  goes  into  the  porch  and 
opens  the  outer  door,  a  little  timidly).  Is  anyone 
there  ? —  (Resolutely)  Is  anybody  there  ?  (Pause- 
no  answer.) 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (irritated). 

Fine  doings!  As  if  I  hadn't  had  enough  excitement — 
it's  enough  to  kill  one.  You're  always  complaining 
of  something. 

AUGUSTA  (snappishly). 

Complaining !  Complaining ! — Havej^tlgot  enough  to 
complain  about  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
You  behave  charmingly  to  your  mother,  I  must  say. 

7 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

AUGUSTA. 

Oh !  what  do  you  expect  ?  Who  could  help  being 
frightened — in  pitch  darkness — absolutely  alone — 

MRS  BUCHNER  (putting  her  arms  round  Augustas  waist 

from  behind — soothingly). 
Madcap !   Madcap !   to  flare  up  like  that   for  nothing ! 

Come  now.     {Helping  her  to  take  off  her  jacket,  etc.) 

There  ! — you  see  ? — 

AUGUSTA. 
Ah  !  but  it  is  true,  Mrs  Buchner ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Now  my  dear  people,  listen!  Four  long  days  already 
since  we  came  to  stay  with  you.  I've  been  thinking 
— sha'n't  we  drop  all  these  formalities  ? — Mayn't  I 
call  you  Augusta  ?  Eh  ? — Good — then — (embraces 
her  and  kisses  Mrs  Scholz). 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (before  she  responds  to  the  embrace). 
Wait !  wait !     My  hands  are  all  greasy. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (to  Augusta,  who  is  warming  herself  at 

the  stove). 

There  now!  Areinl  you  better  already? — Was  the 
Christmas  party  nice? 

AUGUSTA. 

Nothing  will  take  me  there  again  ! — Stuffy — no  air — hot 
enough  to  make  you  faint ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Did  the  minister  speak  well  ? 

8 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 


AUGUSTA. 

I  know  one  thing;  if  7  were  poor,  I'd  have  been  off 
after  the  great  man's  speech. — I'd  have  flung  all 
their  beggarly  trash  back  in  their  faces. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

0 — o — h !  but  it's  a  great  blessing  for  the  poor  people. 

[A  fresh,  clear  woman's  voice  is  heard  singing. 

"  When  beneath  the  linden  leaves 

The  blossom  clings, 
Memory  in  my  spirit  weaves 
Dreams  of  bygone  springs." 


Ida  comes  through  the  stairway.  She  is  twenty 
years  oM,  and  wears  a  close-clinging  black  woollen 
dress.  She  has  a  fine,  fully  matured  figure,  a 
very  small  head,  and,  on  this  first  entrance,  her 
long  yellow  hair  is  loose.  She  has  an  air  of  quiet 
contentment  about  her,  a  subdued*  cheerfulness  and 
confident  expectation  of  happiness.  Although 
the  expression  of  her  clever  face  is  generally 
bright,  it  deepens  at  times  into  a  sudden  serious- 
ness, showing  that  she  is  unaffectedly  lost  in  her 
own  thoughts.] 


IDA  (a  towel  laid  over  her  shoulders  and  some 

cardboard  boxes  under  her  arm). 
Has  anybody  come  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Augusta  has  given  us  a  fine  fright. 

9 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

IDA  (pointing  back  up  the  stairs). 

It's  not  so  very  comfortable  upstairs,  either.  I  hurried 
(laughing)  so  that  I  could  come  down. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
But,  child !  Robert  has  the  room  over  you  now. 

IDA  (putting  the  boxes  on  the  table,  opens  them  and 
takes  out  various  things). 

Well,  if  he  has,  the  place  is  always  empty. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Your  hair  should  be  nearly  dry  by  now,  eh  ? 

IDA  (turning  her  hmd  lovingly,  and  throwing  back 

her  hair). 
Just  feel ! 

MRS  BUCHXER  (doing  so). 

Oh  dear — you  should  have  washed  it  earlier,  child ! 

IDA. 

What  a  bother  the  old  mane  is ;  I've  been  scorching  my- 
self at  the  stove  for  the  last  half  hour  (taking  from 
one  of  the  boxes  a  yellow  silk  purse  and  holding  it 
out  to  Augusta).  Pretty  colour,  eh  ? — It's  only  just 
a  little  joke  ;  has  he  had  many  purses  ? 

AUGUSTA  (busy  with  her  jacket,  which  she  is  brushing ; 
shrugs  her  shoulders). 

Don't  know  (she  looks  critically  with  her  short-sighted 
eyes  at  the  purse).  H'm,  h'm,  rather  loosely  knitted 
(immediately  returning  to  her  jacket).  The  plush  is 
done  for. 

10 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA  (displaying  a  little  box  of  cigars). 

I — am    pleased — to   think    you   have   never  dressed    a 
Christmas  tree ! 

AUGUSTA. 

If  you  come  to  think  of  it — it's  really  not  the  sort  of  thing 
for  grown-up  people ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

No  indeed !  If  ever  I'd  suggested  one,  my  husband  would 
have  never  let  me  hear  the  end  of  it.  With  my  dear 
parents — Ah !  when  I  remember — what  a  beautiful 
family  life  that  was.  Never  a  Christmas  without  a 
tree!  (Imitating  her  father's  gait  and  manner).  And 
then  in  the  evening  when  father  came  from  the  office 
and  brought  the  beau — u — tiful  gingerbread  with 
him  (joining  thumb  and  fore-finger  as  if  she  held  a 
piece  of  the  famous  cake  between  them — she  puts  them 
to  her  mouth).  Ah  yes— those  days  are  gone.  My 
husband — he  wouldn't  even  eat  his  dinner  with  us — 
he  lived  upstairs — we  down — a  perfect  hermit.  If 
one  wanted  anything  from  him — good  Lord — the 
only  way  was  to  get  hold  of  Friebe. 

AUGUSTA  (feeding  the  stove). 
Oh  don't  go  on  like  that  everlastingly ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Don't  pile  up  the  stove  in  that  senseless  fashion  ! 

AUGUSTA. 

Can't  we  even  have  the  room  warm  then  ? 

11 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
All  the  heat  flies  up  the  chimney  to-day. 

AUGUSTA  (demurring  crossly). 
Is  that  a  reason  for  letting  it  go  quite  out  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Leave  me  in  peace  ! 

AUGUSTA  (throwing  the  shovel  noisily  back  into  the  box). 
Have  it  your  own  way !  [Exit  Augusta  in  a  rage.] 

IDA. 

Ah,  Gussie  !  stay  with  us ! — Just  wait — I'll  soon  bring  her 
round.  [Goes  out  after  her. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (with  resignation). 

All  my  children  are  like  that !  —  ah  —  what  a  girl ! 
There's  no  holding  her !  First  she  wants  one  thing, 
then  another  : — all  of  a  sudden — she  takes  it  into  her 
head — she  must  study.  She'll  stick  upstairs  and  not 
say  a  word  for  weeks  ;  and  the  next  thing  is — she's  no 
use — nobody  wants  her. — Oh,  good  Heavens,  yes — 
you're  to  be  envied — a  sweet  little  thing  like  your 

daughter 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Oh,  but  Gussie  too ! — 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

How  charmingly  she  plays  the  piano,  and  that  delicious 

voice — How  I  love  to  listen  to  a  voice  like  that ! 

12 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Why  don't  you  ever  play  now  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  that  would  be  a  fine  thing.  The  little  peace  I  have 
would  be  done  for.  Augusta  is  so  nervous — just  like 
her  father — he'd  run  away  from  the  piano  as  if  he 
were  hunted. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

You  should  hear  your  William  play  now;  he  has  im- 
proved ! — What  would  Ida  be  without  him  !  She's 
learnt  all  she  knows  from  him. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah  yes  !  so  you  told  me.  Oh,  he's  full  of  talent,  there's 
no  doubt  of  that !  It  was  a  pleasure  to  teach 
him. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Yes  !  and  he  looks  back  with  such  affection  on  the  time 
when  his  little  mother  gave  him  his  first  lessons. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Does  he  ? — Good  Lord,  yes !  those  were  pleasant  times. 
Then  I  used  to  think — every  thing  turns  out  differently 
— Oh !  I'm  so  agitated  ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
So  agitated  ?— What  about  ? 

MBS  SCHOLZ. 

Why — about  his  coming — how  does  he  look  now — really  ? 

13 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
"Well — strong — healthy.     You'll  be  proud  of  your  son. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

I'm  really  surprised  that  the  boy's  coming.  It's  gone 
to  my  heart  many  a  time.  And  the  notepaper  he's 
cost  me — and  never  once  answered  his  old  mother  : 
how  have  you  brought  him  to  it  ?  That's  what  I 
can't  understand — that  I  can't  understand. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
I  ? — Oh !  no !  it  was  Ida  who  persuaded  him. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Robert  doesn't  trouble  himself  much  about  us  either,  but  at 
least  he  comes  once  a  year  at  Christmas  time  for  a  few 
days :  that's  not  much  to  be  grateful  for — but\Vjlliani 
— six  whole^jeaps-fe^ftjiotbeen  here — neither  he  nor 
nty-hng^and — for  six  whole  years.  "Does  she  get  on 
with  him  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Ida  ? — Very  well  in  every  way. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  that's  extraordinary.  You  simply  can't  imagine 
how  reserved  the  boy  always  was — just  like  his  father. 
No  playfellows,  no  school  friends, — nothing. 

MRS  BUCHNER, 

Yes,  yes,  that's  how  he  was  with  us  at  first  He  never 
would  come  near  the  house,  except  for  the  music- 
lesson. 

14 
* 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

IT 

Later,  though,  he  came  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Well, — yes.  He  said  we  mustn't  worry  him,  and  when  he 
felt  able  he'd  come  of  his  own  accord.  We  had  the 
sense  to  lot  him  have  his  own  way,  and  sure  enough, 
after  waiting  for  him  half  a  year,  in  fact, — when  we'd 
given  up  waiting,  he  came — and  afterwards,  day 
after  day,  little  by  little,  he  became  quite  different. 

m 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

You  must  have  bewitched  him — his  engagement  alone— 
that's  what  I  can't  get  over. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

You  must  know  how  to  manage  with  artists.  I've  learnt 
that — my  dear  husband  was  one. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

And  that — business — with  his  father  ?  Has  he  confided 
that  to  you,  too  ? 

MRS  .BUCHNER. 

N-n-o,  dear  friend.  You  see  that's  the  one,  only,  point 
— the  one  thing  he  can't  yet  bring  himself  to — but  you 
may  believe  me,  the  remembrance  is  terribly  painful 
to  him — is  still — to  this  very  day.  And  certainly  not 
less  so  because  he  has  kept  it  to  himself.  At  all 
costs  he  must  get  over  that,  even  in  this  matter  too. 

15 
*  «•  •  4*  •»* 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MRS  SCHOLZ-. 

Oh,  God  forbid  ! — no,  no — right  is  right !  "  Honour  thy 
father  and  thy  mother."  A  hand  that  you  raise 
against  your  own  father — that's  an  inhuman  hand ! 
We've  had  our  quarrels — oh  yes !  we've  both  our 
faults,  my  husband  and  I,  but  that's  our  business,  no 
human  being  has  a  right  to  interfere,  least  of  all 
one's  own  son.  And  who  had  to  suffer  for  it  ?  I, 
of  course.  An  old  woman  like  me  has  broad 
shoulders ;  my  husband  left  the  house  the  very  same 
day,  and  half  an  hour  later,  William  too.  There 
was  no  good  talking ;  first  I  thought  they  would 
come  back,  but  whoever  else  did  the;piidnTt- — And 
William  alone  is  to  blame  for  it,  no  one  else — uo  one. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

William  may  have  been  much  to  blame — I'm  convinced 
of  that.  But  think,  to  have  repented  for  years, 
and — 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

No — no!  Good  heavens,  what  can  you  be  thinking  of! 
It's  not  so  easily  got  over;  that  would  be  worse 
still.  It's  very  good  of  you  to  have  taken  so  to  the 
boy,  and  it's  nice  too  that  he's  coming — as  indeed 
why  shouldn't  he  ?  But,  after  all,  what's  the  good 
of  it  ?  It's  not  so  easy  to  fill  up  a  gulf — yes,  yes, 
there  are  gulfs — that's  what  they  are,  gulfs — deep 
gulfs — in  our  family. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Still  I  can't  help  thinking  that  we — that  those  of  us  with 
firm,  honest  intentions — 
16 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Intentions,  intentions  !  don't  talk  to  me !  I  know  better ! 
One  can  intend,  and  intend,  and  intend,  hundreds  of 
things,  and  nothing  gets  any  further.  No,  no ! — it's 
quite  another  thing  with  your  daughter.  She  is  so 
— and  William  is  so — and  both  are  what  they  are. — 
Much  too  good  a  sort  for  one  of  us — much,  much 
too  good. — Oh,  Lord,  yes ! — intentions  ! — Ah  yes ! 
all  these  good  intentions — Your  intentions  are  all 
very  well,  but  whether  they  lead  to  anything — I 
doubt  it! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

But  I  hope  it— all  the  more. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  it  may  be.  I'll  say  nothing  to  spoil  it.  In  spite  of 
everything,  my  heart  goes  out  to  the  boy;  only  it 
excites  me  so,  I'm  frightened;  and,  mind  you,  it 
won't  be  all  as  easy  as  you  think. 

IDA  (enters  right ;  to  Mrs  Scholz,  sweetly). 
Little  mother-in-law,  she's  gilding  the  nuts. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Time's  getting  on,  Ida !  You  must  make  yourself  beauti- 
ful, he  may  be  here  at  any  moment. 

IDA  (startled). 

What?    Already! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh,  don't  trouble !     She's  much  too  beautiful  for  him  as 
it  is. 
B  17 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 


MRS  BUCHNER. 

I've  put  the  blue  out  for  you  (calling  after  Ida),  and  put 
on  the  brooch ;  don't  forget.  [Exit  Ida. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (continuing,  to  Mrs  Scholz). 

She  doesn't  care  a  bit  for  jewellery. 

[The  outer  door  of  the  house  opens  and  shuts. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Wait — who — (to  Mrs  Buchner)  please  will  you — I  can't 
see  him  yet — I — 

MRS  BUCHNER  (calling  up  the  stairs). 

Ida !  /your  William  is  here. 

[Dr  Scholz  enters  through  the  glass  door.    He  is  un-  j 
usually  tall,  broad-shouldered,  very  bloated.    The 
face  is  fat,  complexion  muddy,  the  eyes  sometimes 
glittering,  with  wandering  glances,  but  usually 
dull  and   lack-lustre.      He  has  a  grey,  stubbly 
beard,  partially  covering  his  cheeks;  his  movements/ 
are  clumsy  and  tremulous  ;  he  speaks  brokenly, 
if  with  his  mouth  full ;  stumbles  over  syllables^ 
and  is  interrupted  by  gasping  inspirations.     He 
is  slovenly  dressed :  a  velvet  vest,  coat  and  trousers 
of  nondescript  colour,  once  brown — cap  with  a 
large  peak,  stone-grey  in  colour,  peculiar  in  shape ; 
red  silk  neckerchief,  linen  creased.     He  uses  a/ 
large  Turkish  pocket  handkerchief.     On  entering' 
he  carries  a  malacca  cane  with  a  staghorn  crook\  \ 
in  his  right  hand,  and  has  flung  about  him  a    j 
large  military  cloak,  over  his  left  arm  a  fur  I j 
foot-bag. 

18 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Servus !  servus ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (staring  at  him  as  if  at  an  apparition). 

Fritz  !— 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

As  you  see. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (throwing  her  arms  about  him  with  a 

scream). 
Fritz ! ! 

AUGUSTA  (opens  the  door  L.,  starts  back). 

Father ! 

[Mrs  Buchner  goes  off  backwards  through  the  left 
door,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Dr  Scholz. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Yes,  yes,  yes,  it's  I.     But  first  of  all — is  Friebe  there  ? 

FRIEBE  (peeping  through  kitchen  door,  starts — coming 
forward). 

The  doctor !  (He  rushes  to  him  and  seizes  and  kisses  both 
his  hands).     Now,  would  anyone  have  believed  it ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

St ! — Just  go  and  see — see  that  the  house  door  is  shut. 

[Friebe  nods  and  obeys  with  joyful  alacrity. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

But  Fritz,  tell  me — only  tell  me,  my  mind's  all  confused 
(weeping,   embraces  him).      Ah   Fritz !    what  grief 
you've  caused  me  all  this  long,  long  time. 
19 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (putting  his  wife  gently  from  him). 

Ah  well,  my  life  too — we'd  better  not  begin  with  re- 
proaches. You're  just  the  same  doleful  old  thing 
(with  gentle  bitterness).  Anyhow  I  should  certainly 
not  have  troubled  you — if  it  hadn't  been  for — (Friebe 
takes  his  cloak,  etc.)  There  are  times  in  life,  dear 
Minna — if  one  has  powerful  enemies  as  I  have — 

[Friebe  goes  out  through  the  stairway  with 
the  Dr's  belongings. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (pretending  to  be  cross). 

Nobody  made  you  come,  Fritz.  Here  there  has  always 
been  a  safe,  cosy  home; — you  could  have  lived  so 
comfortably  here. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Don't  be  cross — you  don't  understand. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah  yes !  I'm  only  a  simpleton,  I  suppose, — but  really, 
you  weren't  answerable  to  anyone ;  it  wasn't  at  all 
necessary  for  you — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

— St !  It  was  very  necessary  (half  mysteriously).  After 
guilt,  atonement ;  after  sin,  chastisement. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Yes,  yes,  Fritz, — it  is  true — you  too  had  much  to  answer 

for.     (From  here  to  the  end  of  the  conversation,  she 

continually   looks  with  anxiety   towards  the  front 

door,   as   though  she  feared  every  moment  to  see 

20 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

William  come  in).    We  might  have  been  so  peaceful, 
so  contented,  if  you  had  only  let  us. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
It  was  all  my  fault,  all  of  it. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
There,  now  you  are  unjust  again. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  I  won't  argue  with  you ;  many  have  banded 
together  against  me,  that's  certain — for  instance,  in 
the  hotels,  the  waiters — not  one  night  could  I  sleep 
in  peace — up  and  down,  up  and  down,  in  the 
corridors — and  always  just  in  front  of  my  door. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

But  come  now,  they  wouldn't  have  disturbed  you  on 
purpose ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

No —  ?  oh  you ! — you  don't  understand  ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Well,  well,  it  may  be,  waiters  are  sometimes  very  mean. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Mean ! — I  should  think  they  are. — However,  we  can  speak 
of  that  later.  I  have  rather  a  headache — (puts  his 
hand  on  the  back  of  his  head).  There  !  that's  another 
disgraceful  thing!  I  know  well  enough  whom  I 
have  to  thank  for  that !  I'll  just  see  whether  I  can't 
drive  it  away  with  a  sound  sleep — I  am  very  tired. 
21 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MBS  SCHOLZ. 
But  there's  no  fire  upstairs,  Fritz ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Think  of  that.  From  Vienna  without  stopping  and  no  fire  ! 
— Never  mind ;  Friebe  will  have  seen  to  that.  Tell 
me  about  Friebe — I  mean — is  he  still  as  trustworthy  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Friebe  is — what  he  always  was. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

I  was  sure  of  it — well  for  the  present — (after  he  has 
pressed  his  wife's  hand,  he  turns  with  a  deep  thought- 
ful expression  and  goes  towards  the  staircase.  Notic- 
ing the  Christmas  tree,  he  stops  and  looks  at  it 
forlornly).  What  is  that  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (disturbed,  shamefaced,  and  a  little 
frightened). 

We're  keeping  Christmas. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Keeping  Christmas ! — (after  a  long  pause,  lost  in  memories) 
It's  a  long — long — time  (turning  and  speaking  with 
real  emotion).  And  you — you've  grown  quite  white! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Yes,  Fritz— both  of  us  ! 

[Dr  Scholz  nodding  turns  away  and  goes  off  through 
stairway  Lgty 

22 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER  (entering  quickly  from 
So  your  husband  has  come  back  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

It's  as  though — as  if — I  don't  know — Christ !  what  am  I 
to  think ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

That  it  is  a  gift,  dear  friend,  for  which  we  must  all  be 
thankful. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah !  what  he  looks  like !  How  he  has  lived !  What  an 
existence ! — from  one  country  to  another,  from  one 
town  to — ah  !  he's  gone  through  something ! 

[Mrs  Buchner  is  going  to  stairway. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Tell  Ida  of  the  joyful  event. 

[Goes  off  through  stairway. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  yes !  —  no,  no,  —  what  are  you  thinking  of !  We 
mustn't  let  that  out.  If  my  husband  finds  out  that 
anyone  but  himself  lives  up  there,  I  should  get  into 
nice  trouble. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (from  the  stairs). 

I'll  go  very  gently. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Yes,  quite  gently. — That  would  be  dreadful ! 

23 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
I'm  going  quite  gently. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Oh  God-oh-God-oh-God! — Well — very,  very  gently  ! 

AUGUSTA  (hastily  entering  from  R.). 
Father  is  here  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (beside  herself). 

Why,  of  course !  And  now  what's  to  be  done  !  The  next 
thing  will  be  William — Oh  !  the  deadly  fear  I've  been 
in !  If  he  and  his  father  were  to  meet !  Any  minute 
he  may  come  in !  What  an  experience  to  go  through 
for  an  old  woman  like  me  ! 

AUGUSTA. 

What  an  extraordinary  sensation,  mamma,  extraordinary  I 
— We  were  so  used  to —  It's  like  a  man  risen  from 
the  dead  after  long  years. — I'm  frightened,  mamma. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Do  you  suppose  he's  come  to  the  end  of  his  money  ? 

AUGUSTA. 

Now — that  would  be — Well !  I — that  would  be  the  last 
straw ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  in  that  case,  how  should  we  manage  at  all !  We 
might  as  well  go  and  beg  at  once. 

[Ida  fully  dressed  enters  from  stairway,  presses 
Augusta's  hand  joyfully. 
24 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 


IDA. 

Gussie !    (winningly)     It's  really  true !     Oh !   I   am  so 
glad. 

[Mrs  Scholz  and  Augusta  show  a  certain  painfuj*-. 
emotion. 

\Ro5ert  enters  from  one  of  the  doors  R. ;  he  is  of 
middle  height,  slender,  pale-faced,  and  haggard- 
looking.  His  eyes  are  sunken,  and  at  times 
glitter  feverishly  ;  moustache  and  imperial.  He 
smokes  Turkish  tobacco  out  of  a  noticeably  short- 
stemmed  pipe. 

ROBERT  (lightly). 
You're  going  to  have  it  warm  here,  mother. 


Now  he's  beginning ! 
For  all  I  care  ! 


MRS  SCHOLZ. 

AUGUSTA. 
[Steals  sidelong  glances  at  Ida's  dress. 


ROBERT  (to  Ida,  who  has  looked  at  him  reproachfully}. 
Yes,  that's  how  I'm  made,  Miss  Ida  ! 

IDA  (shaking  her  head  at  him  incredulously). 

No!  no! 

AUGUSTA  (exploding). 

You're  too  maddening,  Robert ! 

ROBERT. 

Not  intentionally !     Don't  get  mad  ! 

[Augusta  makes  a  contemptuous  gesture. 
25 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

ROBERT. 

And  then ? 

AUGUSTA. 

And  then ! — And  then ! — Bosh ! 

ROBERT  (with  simulated  astonishment). 

I  beg  your  pardon — I  thought — but  you  no  longer  depend 
on  mere  outward  charms ! 

IDA  (soothingly). 
Oh!  Mr  Robert! 

ROBERT. 

H'm,  mustn't  I  defend  myself? 

AUGUSTA  (half  choked  with  tears). 

Just  like  you !  Just  like  you.  Your  whole — my  age — 
it's  infamous  of  you!  Mrs  Buchner!  isn't  it  too 
mean  of  him  ?  To  me !  I — I  who  have  stuck  to 
mother — through  the  best — most  beautiful  time  of 
my  young  life! — whilst  all  of  you — I — just  as  if  I'd 
been  a  servant-girl! 

ROBERT. 

On  my  word ! — that  has  the  true  ring — try  the  stage ! 
(with  an  altered  manner :  roughly)  Don't  play  the 
fool ;  just  think !  you  with  a  martyr's  halo,  that 
would  be  too  funny !  You'd  have  come  off  even 
worse  anywhere  else  than  you  have  at  home,  that's 
the  truth  of  it ! 

AUGUSTA. 

Mother!  you  can  bear  witness — haven't  I  refused  three 
proposals  ? 

26 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

ROBERT. 

Pff !  If  mother  had  only  forked  out  the  necessary  money 
the  gentlemen  would  no  doubt  have  included  you  in 
the  bargain. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (stepping  up  to  Robert,  holding  her 
hand  out). 

There,  take  a  knife — cut  it  out  of  me — cut  the  money  out 
of  my  hand ! 

AUGUSTA. 

Listen  to  me !  Would  you  like  to  see  the  letters  of 
refusal ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (interrupting). 

Children!  (She  makes  a  movement  as  if  to  bare  her 
breast  for  a  death-stroke.)  Here — rather  kill  me  at 
once !  Haven't  you  so  much  pity  for  me  ?  Not  so 
much  ?  What  ?  Ah !  good  Lord !  Not  five  minutes ! 
I  never  saw  such  children ;  not  five  minutes  can  you 
keep  peace ! 

ROBERT. 

Exactly,  that's  what  I  said :  things  are  warming  up  again. 

[Friebe  comes  importantly  from  the  stairway ;  he 

whispers  to  Mrs  Scholz,  whereupon  she  gives  him 

a  key.      Friebe  goes  out  through  cellar  door. 

Robert  has  stood  watching  this  proceeding. 

ROBERT  (as  Friebe  disappears  down  the  cellar  steps). 
Aha! 

AUGUSTA  (who  has  kept  her  eye  on  Robert :  breaking  out 
furiously). 

You  haven't  a  shred  of  filial  feeling ! — not  one  shred ! 

27 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

ROBERT. 

And  then ? 

AUGUSTA. 

But  you're  a  good  hand  at  acting — you  lie  abominably ; 
and  that's  the  most  disgusting  part  of  it. 

ROBERT. 
About  father,  do  you  mean  ? 

AUGUSTA. 
Especially  about  father. 

ROBERT  (shrugging  his  shoulders). 

If  you  mean 

AUGUSTA. 

Yes — yes —  that — that !   Yes — for — if  it  were  not  so,  then, 
yes  then  you  would  be  a  scoundrel 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (interrupting). 
Will  you  two  be  quiet  or 

ROBERT  (without  noticing  her). 
Then  I  am  a  scoundrel — well  and  then  ? 

[Ida,  who  for  a  long  time  has  shown  restless  expecta- 
tion goes  out  through  glass  door. 

AUGUSTA. 
Pfui!  shameless! 

ROBERT. 

Shameless — just  so.     So  I  am. 

28 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Mr  Robert !  I  don't  believe  you — you  are  better  than  you 
would  have  us  believe — better  than  you  yourself 
believe ! 

ROBERT  (with  slight  but  increasing  sarcasm,  coldly). 

My  dear  Mrs  Buchner !  it  is  no  doubt  very  kind  of  you 
— but  as  I  said — I  hardly  know — to  what  this  honour 
— indeed  I  can  lay  no  claim  to  your  indulgence.  My 
self-esteem  is  at  the  present  moment  by  no  means  so 
slight  that  I  feel  the  need  of  anyone  to 

MRS  BUCHNER  (slightly  bewildered). 
That  isn't  at  all  what  I  mean — only — your  father  ? 

ROBERT. 

My  father  for  me  is  a  certain  Fritz  Scholz,  doctor  of 
medicine. 

AUGUSTA. 
Oh  yes — go  on ! 

ROBERT. 

And  if  I  cannot  feel  towards  this  man  quite  so  indifferent 
as  towards  any  other  tomfool,  it  is  because  I — and 
then — (he  smokes)  because  I — well  just  this — I  am 
myself  to  a  certain  extent  the  product  of  his  folly. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (hardly  believing  her  ears). 

Excuse  me !  I  can't  follow  you  so  far.  How  can  you 
say  such  a  thing  ? — It  really  quite  upsets  me. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (to  Mrs  Buchner). 

There,  there  ! — You'll  see  things  in  this  house 

29 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

AUGUSTA. 

Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  mother?  We  are — 
what  we  are.  Other  people  who  do — Lord  knows 
what — they're  no  better ! 

ROBERT. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  always  simple  souls  to  be 
found  who  are  never  happy  unless  they  can  potter 
about  tinkering  their  neighbours'  affairs — exploded 
ideas ! — Rubbish ! 

MRS  BUCHNER  (seizing  Robert  by  both  hands,  with 
feeling). 

Mr  Robert!  I  feel  under  a  distinct  obligation  to  you. 
I'm  quite  charmed.  Honestly,  you  haven't  offended 
me  in  the  least ! 

ROBERT  (a  little  taken  aback). 

You  are  an  extraordinary  woman  ! 

[Friebe  comes  from  the  cellar ;  he  carries  in  his 
left  hand  three  bottles  of  red  wine,  the  bottle 
necks  between  his  fingers,  a  bottle  of  cognac 
under  his  left  arm.  In  his  right  hand  he  has 
the  cellar  key.  Advancing  to  Mrs  Scholz,  im- 
portantly.]— 

FRIEBE. 

Now  then — the  cigars. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Good  gracious,  Friebe,  I  really  don't  know — 

ROBERT. 

In  the  writing-table,  mother. 

30 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah — yes ! —  [She  takes  a  bunch  of  keys  and  fumbles 

nervously  for  the  right  one. 

AUGUSTA. 
Why !  you  know  the  key  of  the  desk ! 

ROBERT. 
The  one  with  the  straight  ward. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Oh  yes !  wait  a  minute ! 

ROBERT. 
Give  it  to  me. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Wait — wait — here — ah ! — no ! — I'm  quite  confused !  (hand- 
ing Robert  the  bunch).  There  ! 

ROBERT  (detaching  the  right  key  and  passing  it  to  Friebe). 

There,  I  trust  my  father's  cigars  may  meet  with  your 
approval. 

FRIEBE. 

There  you  are !     We  shan't  get  him  away  from  them 
all  day !  (bell  rings  loudly)  Coming — coming !  (goes 
off  upstairs). 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Now  the  wine  will  soon  come  to  an  end ! — Good  heavens ! 
Wliat  are  we  coming  to !  All  that  wine.  Always 
those  strong,  expensive  cigars!  I  tell  you  he  will 
ruin  himself! 

31 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

ROBERT. 
Well,  it's  a  free  country ! 

MKS  BUCHNER. 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

ROBERT. 

Everyone  has  a  right  to  amuse  himself  in  his  own  way. 
I,  at  any  rate,  would  not  have  my  right  interfered 
with,  not  even  by  law.  H'm,  it's  extraordinary  ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

What! 

ROBERT. 
Extraordinary ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  critically  ?  Is  it  something 
about  me  that  is  extraordinary  ? 

EGBERT. 

Depends  how  you  look  at  it!  You've  been  with  us 
several  days,  and  you've  not  yet  thought  of  going — ! 

AUGUSTA. 
What  a  way  to  talk ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
They  wont  stop  !       [She  shakes  her  head  despairingly. 

ROBERT  (with  brutal  candour). 

Well  mother,  isn't  it  true  ?     Have  any  strangers  ever  been 
able  to  stand  us  more  than  half  a  day  ?    Haven't  they 
all  cleared  out  ? — The  Schulzes — the  Lehmanns  ? 
32 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

AUGUSTA. 

As  if  we  were  dependent  on  strangers — for  my  part  we're 
enough  for  ourselves. 

ROBERT. 

>h  more  than  enough  !  (Brutally}  I  tell  you,  Mrs  Buchner, 
they  would  fly  at  each  other's  throats  before  perfect 
strangers — like  wild  beasts.  Mother  woulcHeaF-xiff 
the  ^tablecloth,  father  .smash  the  water-bottle — 
cheerful,  cli  ? — Pretty  scenes  ! — Charming  impres- 
sions for  children ! 

AUGUSTA. 

You  ought  to  crawl  out  of  sight  for  shame,  you  mean 
wretch,  you!  [Goes  off  quickly. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

You  see  ?     This  is  what  I've  endured  for  years — years  ! 

[Goes  out  in  great  agitation. 

ROBERT  (going  on,  quite  unmoved). 

And  no  wonder.  A  man  of  forty  marries  a  girl  of  sixteen 
and  carries  her  off  to  this  godforsaken  corner.  A 
man  who  has  served  as  surgeon  in  the  Turkish  army, 
and  travelled  through  Japan.  A  cultivated,  enter- 
prising spirit,  who  works  out  the  most  daring  pro- 
jects— joins  himself  to  a  woman  who  a  few  years 
before  was  firmly  convinced,  that  America  was  one  of 
the  stars  in  the  sky.  Truly  I  don't  exaggerate! 
Well,  the  result — a  stagnant,  corrupt,  fermenting 
swamp — out  of  which  we  have  had  the  doubtful 
advantage  of  growing  —  Horrible  ! —  Love  ? —  not  a 
trace.  Mutual  understanding  ? — respect  ? — not  a  touch 
c  33 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

— and  this  is  the  soil  from  which  we  children  have 
grown. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Mr  Robert ! — I  want  to  beg  you — 

ROBERT. 
All  right !  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  it.   Besides  the  story  is — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
No,  no ! — I  want  to  ask  you  for  something — pressing. 

ROBERT. 
Ask  me — what  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Couldn't  you — to  please  me — couldn't  you  ? — wouldn't  it 
be  possible — just  this  one  evening — couldn't  you  put 
off  your  mask  ? 

ROBERT. 

That's  good !     Put  off  my  mask  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Yes,  for  it's  not  really  you — it's  not  really  your  own  face 
that  you  show  us. 

ROBERT. 
What  an  idea ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Promise  me — Mr  Robert ! — 

ROBERT. 
But  I  really  don't  know — 

34 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

William — your  brother  William  may  come  at  any  moment 
— and — 

ROBERT  (interrupting). 

Mrs  Buchner,  if  you  would  only — Believe  me! — your 
efforts,  I  assure  you,  are  quite  useless — all  this  will 
lead  to  nothing — absolutely  nothing — it's  all  been 
spoilt  for  us — ruined — bungled  from  the  very  beginning 
— bungled  through  every  year  of  our  lives.  There's 
nothing  more  to  be  done.  It  all  looks  very — promising 
— Christmas  tree — candles — presents — family  gather- 
ing— That's  only  on  top :  a  downright  damnable  lie — 
nothing  else !  And  now — Father ! — If  I  didn't  know 
how  unmanageable  he  is — on  my  honour  I  should 
believe — that  it  was  you — who  brought  him  here — 

MRS  BUCHNER, 

Indeed  no !  That  is  just  what  has  quickened  my  hopes. 
It  is  not  chance,  it's  providence — and  so  from  my 
heart  I  beg  you  to  be  kind  and  brotherly  to  William. 
If  you  only  knew  how  highly  he  speaks  of  you,  with 
what  love  and  what  respect — 

ROBERT  (interrupting). 
H'm ! — and  what  use  will  it  be  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
What? 

ROBERT. 

Why  should  I  be  kind  and  brotherly  to  him  ? 

35 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

You  ask  that ! 

ROBERT. 

Yes. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Well — at  least  not  to  spoil  his  return  home  for  him. 

ROBERT. 

Oh,  we  don't  affect  each  other  as  you  seem  to  think,  and, 
besides,  if  you  imagine  he  is  going  to  be  overcome  by 
a  subtle  emotion  on  first  entering  here — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Your  brother  is  so  good — a  really  fine  character! — He 
must  have  fought  a  great  fight  before  bringing  him- 
self to  this  point.  He  is  coming  with  an  intense 
desire  for  reconciliation,  that  I  can  assure  you ! 

ROBERT. 

I  can't  understand  all  that.  Reconciled — to  what? — 
That's  what  I  can't  see.  As  a  rule,  we  understand 
one  another  fairly  well  in  this  family.  But  this  is 
quite  beyond  me !  I've  nothing  to  say  against  him, 
but  on  the  other  hand  there's  no  disguising  facts. — I 
ask  you — do  you  imagine  that  I  have  any  exaggerated 
respect  for  my  father? — Of  course  not. — Or  that  I 
have  any — love — for  him  ? — Or  any  childlike  feeling 
of  gratitude  ? — You  see,  I  haven't  the  slightest  reason 
for  any  such  feeling.  In  all  our  lives,  the  most  that 
we  have  ever  been  to  each  other,  has  been  a  source 
of  amusement.  At  moments,  when  we  have  blamed 
each  other  for  our  common  unhappiness,  we  have 
36 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

actually  hated  each  other.  Well,  between  father 
and  William  this  same  hatred  grew.  That  I  under- 
stand well  enough.  That  I  haven't  done  what  William 
did  is  perhaps  an  accident.  So  I  have  nothing  against 
him — nota  bene,  so  long  as  I  don't  see  him.  But  if 
I  see  him,  then  all  my  logic  goes  to  the  devil,  for  I 
am  rather, — rather — h'm,  what  shall  I  _say  ?— Well^ 
then  I  only  see  thejnajL-sgho  baa  Rtniclr  T»y  fatbftT>i 
— iiot  his,  but  my  tather,  struck  him  in  the  face ! 

i  MRS  BUCHNER. 

Oh  my  God  !- 

ROBERT. 

And  then  I  can  answer  for  nothing — you  see  ? — absolutely 
for  nothing. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

My  God ! — Was  that  it ! — Struck  him,  you  say  ? — In — 
the — f — ,  in  the  face  ?  His  own  father  ? — 

ROBERT. 
Just  that. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (half  beside  herself). 

Oh  my  God! — But  then — then  I  can  indeed! — Ah!  then 
I  must  speak  to  him  at  once. — Your  good  old  father 
— for  — 

ROBERT  (quite  startled). 
To  whom  ?— 

MRS  BUCHNER  (bursting  into  tears). 

To  your  poor  dear  old  ill-treated  father ! 

37 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

•  ROBERT  (trying  to  restrain  her). 
For  heaven's  sake  what  can  you — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Let  me  go — I  must — I  must — !     [Goes  through  stairway. 

ROBERT  (calling  after  her). 

MrsBuchner!  (Turning  back)  Damned  hysteria ! — 

[He  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  paces  the  room  more 
than  once ;  he  makes  a  movement  as  if  to  hurry 
after  her,  but  finally  gives  up  the  idea,  and  forces 
himself  into  a  state  of  apparent  indifference ;  he 
first  occupies  himself  with  his  pipe;  knocks  it 
out,  fills  it  with  new  tobacco  from  his  pouch, 
lights  it,  and  seems  for  some  minutes  lost  in  the 
enjoyment  of  smoking.  Presently  his  interest  is 
roused  by  the  Christmas  tree,  and  turning  to  the 
presents  on  the  table,  he  plants  himself  before 
them;  while  surveying  them,  pipe  in  mouth,  he 
laughs  bitterly  more  than  once.  Suddenly  he 
starts,  takes  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  and  bends  low 
over  the  table:  straightening  himself,  he  seems 
for  the  first  time  to  discover  that  he  is  alone ; 
looking  round  as  cautiously  as  a  thief,  he  bends 
forward  again,  hastily  seizes  the  yellow  silk 
purse,  looks  at  it  more  closely,  and  presses  it 
with  a  sudden  passionate  movement  to  his  lips. 
In  this  movement  he  shows,  as  by  a  lightning 
flash,  an  eerie,  feverish  passion.  A  noise  startles 
him.  Instantly  the  purse  lies  where  it  was.  On 
tiptoe  he  tries  to  slip  away.  Just  as  he  is  dis- 
appearing through  the  door  down  R.}  he  sees 
38 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

his  mother  enter  by  the  adjoining  door,  and  on 
his  part  stands  still.  Mrs  Scholz  goes  heavily 
but  quickly  across  the  room  to  the  stairway, 
where  she  stands  and  listens.] 

ROBERT  (turning  back). 
I  say,  mother,  what  does  that  woman  want  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (frightened). 
Oh  God-oh-God-oh-God-oh-God ! ! !  How  you  startle  one  ! 

ROBERT. 

What !  (puffs)  wh —  (puff's  again),  what  does  Mrs — Mrs 
Buchner  really  want  here,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

What  /  want  to  know  is,  what  your  father — what  he 
really  wants  ?  Ah,  just  tell  me !  what  is  it  ? 

ROBERT. 
Well,  you'll  scarcely  refuse  him  a  roof  over  his  head  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (perversely,  almost  in  tears). 

I  really  don't  see.  It's  so  long  since  he  wanted  me ;  one 
was  at  any  rate  one's  own  master ;  now  it  will  begin 
all  over  again.  The  old  worry! — now  in  one's  old 
days,  one  will  be  ordered  about  like  a  little  child ! 

ROBERT. 

Oh !  how  you  exaggerate  !  It's  always  the  same,  you  will 
exaggerate  so. 

39 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 


MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Just  you  wait  till  he  sees  the  empty  greenhouse  to- 
morrow. There's  waste  enough  without  my  keeping 
another  gardener;  the  bee-hives,  they're  gone  too. 
No  flowers  need  trouble  themselves  to  grow  for  any- 
thing I  care,  they  only  give  you  headaches  ;  and  then 

the  insects 1  don't  know  what  he  gets  out  of  it ; 

and  for  that,  one  must  be  ordered  about  like  a  good- 
for-nothing!  The  first  "  hallo !"  startles  me  out  of 
my  wits.  Oh,  this  world  is  no  longer  any  good. 

ROBERT  (while  Mrs  Scholz  speaks,  shrugs  his  shoulders 
and  turns  to  go,  then  stops  and  answers). 

Was  it  ever  better,  then  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Better !  I  should  think  so ! ! 

ROBERT. 

Really  !  that  must  have  been  before  my  time ! 

[Goes  out  through  lower  door. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (listening  again  on  stairway). 

When  I  remember — they're  talking  upstairs  (she  looks  up, 
sees  she  is  alone,  listens  again  uneasily,  and  finally 
goes  out  through  stairway,  one  hand  up  to  her  ear, 

face  expressing  fright  and  curiosity). 
'Ida  and  William  enter  through  the  glass  door : 
William  is  of  middle  height,  strong,  healthy- 
looking  ;  fair  hair,  cut  short ;  his  clothes  Jit  well 
without  being  foppish;    overcoat,   hat,   satchel. 
His  left  arm  is  laid  round  Ida's  shoulders.     She 
• ""'  40 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE  _ 

M-      ***^ 

has  her  right  arm  thrown  around  him,  and  with 
gentle  force  is  pushing  him  cm.] 

— -~ 

IDA. 

You  see  now,  you're  inside  !     The  worst  is  over  already. 

WILLIAM. 

Ah  no !  [Sighs  heavily. 

IDA. 

You  may  believe  me  how  very  glad  your  mother  is — and 
Gussie  too.  (She  pulls  off  his  winter  gloves)  Where 
did  you  get  these  from ! 

WILLIAM. 
So  you  know  my — mother  now  ? 

IDA. 
All  of  them,  dearest ;  we're  sworn  friends  already. 

WILLIAM. 
And  how  do  you — like  them  ? 

IDA. 
Dear  people,  as  you  know  very  well. 

WILLIAM  (growing  each  moment  more  constrained 
and  depressed,  speaks  as  though  to  himself). 

Extraordinary !  (his  eyes  catch  sight  of  the  Christmas  tree, 
he  immediately  lowers  them  ;  starting  involuntarily). 

IDA. 

But,  dearest,  surely  that's  not  the  first  Christmas  tree 
which  you — 

41 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

WILLIAM. 

Yes,  here,  and  you  cannot  possibly  feel  with  me  how — 
how — extraordinary 

IDA  (taking  off  his  coat ;  he  remains  passive). 

Please,  please,  Willy  (standing  in  front  of  him,  his  coat 
over  her  arm,  his  hat  and  satchel  in  her  hand),  Willy, 
look  at  me !  (encouragingly)  straight —  (stands  a 
moment  drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  then  puts  the 
things  quickly  to  one  side,  and  comes  back  to 
William).  You  have  promised  me  ! 

WILLIAM, 

Have  you  ever, — Ida, — have  you  ever  seen  a  vaulted 
tomb  hung  with  wreaths  and — 

IDA  (shocked). 

Oh  William !  (quite  beside  herself,  throws  her  arms  about 
him)  that  is  bad  of  you  ! — that  is  too  bad !  that  is 
really  too,  too  bad  of  you ! 

WILLIAM  (putting  her  gently  from  him  with 
suppressed  emotion). 

All  that  means  nothing,  nothing  at  all.  (Coldly  repelling 
her)  Be  reasonable,  be  reasonable  ! 

IDA. 
Oh !  what  is  the  matter  with  you ! 

WILLIAM  (looking  through  the  tree). 

Everything  else  is  as  it  used  to  be.     Ida,  you  must  really, 
really  remember  what  this  all  means  to  me. 
42 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA. 

I'm  getting  so  frightened,  Willy!  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
would  have  been  better  to  --  Mother  certainly  did 
not  know  that  it  would  be  so  hard  for  you,  —  and  I 
—  I  only  thought  —  because  mother  said  —  it  wasn't 
that  /  wished  it  —  !  But  now,  now  that  you've  got 
so  far,  do  —  will  you?  —  for  my  sake!  Ah!  (putting 
her  arms  round  him). 

WILLIAM  (draivn  a  little  further  into  the  room  by  Ida's 
embrace,  with  sighs  of  deep  inward  disturbance). 

—  what  I  have  lived  through  in  this 


very  place 
-  ---  IDA. 

Only  don't  stir  that  up  !     Don't  stir  all  that  up  ! 

WILLIAM. 

See  !  now  it's  getting  clear  to  me  —  your  mother  should 
not  have  persuaded  me  to  this.  She's  always  so 
confident,  —  so  —  I  knew  —  I  told  her  —  but  that  simple 
absolute  confidence  !  If  only  I  hadn't  allowed  my- 
self to  be  blinded— 

IDA. 

Ah  !  how  seriously  you  take  everything,  William  !  Be- 
lieve me,  you  will  speak  differently  to-morrow,  —  as 
soon  as  you've  once  seen  them  all  again.  Then  you'll 
at  any  rate  have  done  your  part  ;  you^will  havejsroved 
Ihaljou  were  in  earnest  in  your  wish  toTmf  at  peace 
with  your  family. 

43 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

WILLIAM. 

To  see  it  all  again  !  all  the  old  places !  Everything  comes 
back — so  vividly,  you  know — the  past  comes  so  close 
to  me — so  oppressively  close — one  can — one  is  quite 
helpless — 

IDA  (embracing  him  with  tears). 

When  I  see  you  like  this,  William — ah,  don't  think — for 
pity's  sake  don't  think  I  would  have  urged  you.  I 
am  so  frightfully  sorry  for  you ! 

WILLIAM. 

Ida,  I  can  tell  you  ! — I  assure  you — I  must  get  away  from 
here  !  That's  evident. — I'm  not  equal  to  this  struggle 
evidently ;  it  might  wreck  me  altogether !  You  are 
such  a  child,  Ida!  a  sweet,  innocent  child — how 
should  you  know !  Thank  God  indeed  that  you 
cannot  even  dream  what  I — what  this  man  whom 
-yorrknow — I  can  tell  you — Hatred! — Bitterness! — 
the  vary  mom^fit  I  uame  111— 

IDA. 

Shall  we  go  ?  shall  we  go  away  ?  this  minute  ? 

WILLIAM. 

Yes !   For  in  these  surroundings  you — even  you — I  can 
scarcely  separate  you  in  my  mind  from  the  rest! 
I'm  losing  you !     It's  criminal  in  me  the  mere  fact 
that  you  should  be  here  ! 
44 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA. 

If  you  could  only  explain,  William,  there  must  be — some- 
thing terrible  must  have  happened  here  that — 

WILLIAM. 

Here !  A  crime — all  the  more  terrible  because  it  did  not 
count  as  one.  Here  my  life  was  given  to  me,  and 
here  that  same  life — I  can  tell  you,  was — I  had  almost 
said  systematically  destroyed,  till  it  grew  loathsome 
to  me — till  I  dragged  it — bowed  down  like  a  beast 
of  burden — crept  about  with  it — buried  myself,  hid 
myself. — What  caitl  say — one  suffers  beyond  words ! 
— Fury — hate — revenge — despair  wiffiout~~ceasing, 
day  and  iiight;  the  saffie~-^»awing-devouring  pain 
(pointing  to  his  forehead)  here  (pointing  to  his 
heart)  and  there! 

IDA. 

Only — what  can  I  do,  William  ?  I  dare  not  trust  myself 
to  advise  you  in  any  way,  I  am  so — 

WILLIAM. 

You  should  have  been  contented  to  leave  me  with  at 
least  the  happiness  that  I  had  gained.  It  had  all 
grown  so  mercifully  dim,  I  realise  now  how  dim !  (over- 
come with  excitement,  he  sinks  on  to  a  chair). 

IDA  (with  a  suppressed  cry). 
William ! 

MRS  BUCHNER  (rushing  in  through  the  stairway  to 
William). 

William  1  listen  to  me  !      Only  remember  now  what  has 
been  said  between  us.     Now  that  I  am  so  much 
45 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

to  you — I  implore  you — now  show  your — yes,  I  de- 
mand it — I  demand  it  from  you,  as  the  mother  of 
my  child!  William,  it  rests  with  you  now — with 
you  only,  William  !  you  have  been  terribly,  terribly 
to  blame  ;  you  have  a  terrible  debt  to  pay — you  shall 
be  happy  again ;  I  have  done  it,  I  have  spoken  to 
your  father — he — 

WILLIAM  (springs  up,  straight  and  stiff,  with  fixed 
eyes,  stammering) : — 

F  —  F  —  father  !  —  what  —  t  —  to  my  f  —  father  (he 
staggers  and  stumbles  like  one  out  of  his  mind, 
and  catches  at  his  overcoat)  I — 

IDA  (frightened). 
Willy!     Willy! 

WILLIAM  (makes  signs  that  he  must  not  be  stopped). 

IDA. 

Ah,  mother !  William !  you — you  shouldn't  have  told  him 
so  suddenly. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

William!  are  you  a  man !  you  cannot  have  deceived  us. 
If^you  have  still  a  spark  Of  love  for  iw^f or  Ida,  I 
"aemand  it  of  you.     I— a  woman— 

IDA  (intercepts  William,  who  has  seized  his  outdoor  things, 
flings  her  arms  round  and  holds  him  fast). 

You  shall  not  go — or  else  I — mother,  if  he  goes,  I  go  with 

him! 

WILLIAM. 

Why  have  you  concealed  this  from  me  ? 

46 


ACT  i.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA. 

Never !  don't  think  so  badly  of  us !  We  have  concealed 
nothing  from  you!  All  of  us,  your  mother,  your 
sister,  we  had  not  an  idea,  any  more  than  you  had ; 
he  only  came  a  few  minutes  ago, — without  letting 
anyone  know  beforehand,  and  so,  you  see — I  thought 
immediately — 

WILLIAM. 

Who  has  told  you  that  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER  (in  tears,  seizing  his  hands). 
You  were  terribly,  terribly  to  blame. 

WILLIAM. 
So  you  know  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Yes,  now. 

WILLIAM. 
Everything  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Yes,  everything,  and  you  see  I  was  right :  you  were  still 
dragging  a  load,  that  was  the  secret. 

WILLIAM. 
You  know  that  I —  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER  (nods  affirmatively'). 

WILLIAM. 

And  Ida,  is  she  to  be  sacrificed  to  a  man  like — like  me  ? 
Does  she  know  it — do  you  know  it,  Ida,  too  ? 

47 


& 

THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  i. 

IDA. 

No,  William,  but  whether  I  know  it  or  not,  that  really 
does  not  matter. 

WILLIAM. 

No? — This  hand,  that  you,  that  you  have  often, — this 
hand  (to  Mrs  Buchner),  it  was  that  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER  (nods  as  before). 

WILLIAM  (to  Ida). 

How  shamefully  I  have  deceived  you !  No,  I  can't  tell 
you — another  time ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

William,  I  know  what  I  am  asking,  but  I — you  must 
humble  yourself  before  your  poor  father ;  till  then 
you  will  never  feel  quite  free!  Call  to  him,  pray 
to  him.  Ah !  William  !  you  must  I  You  must  cling 
to  his  knees,  and  if  he  spurns  you  with  his  foot,  you 
must  not  defend  yourself!  You  must  not  speak  a 
word !  patient  as  a  lamb !  Believe  me,  a  woman 
who  wishes  the  best  for  you  ! 

WILLIAM. 

You  don't  know,  you  cannot  know,  what  you  are  asking 
of  me !  Ah !  you  may  thank  God,  Mrs  Buchner,  that 
he  has  hidden  the  extent  of  your  cruelty  from  you ! 
Infamous  it  may  have  been  what  I  did!  Sacri- 
legious ! — But  what  I  have  gone  through,  here — fought 
through,  suffered — those  fearful  tortures — he  laid  the 
full  burden,  all  the  burden  on  me,  and  at  the  end 
48 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

of  all,  that  accursed  sin !  But  in  spite  of  all  (after  a 
long  deep  look  into  Ida's  eyes,  bracing  himself  as  if 
to  a  firm  resolution),  perhaps  I  shall  succeed — in 
spite  of  all ! 


ACT  II 

The  room  is  empty.  It  is  lighted  partly  by  a  lamp,  with  a  red 
shade,  placed  in  the  arch  of  the  stairway,  but  principally 
from  the  open  doors  of  the  side  room.  Here  the  company 
is  seated  at  table,  as  is  evident  from  the  ringing  of  glasses 
and  clatter  of  plates,  knives  and  forks. 

[Ida,  followed  at  once  by  William,  comes  out  of  the 
side  room. 

IDA. 

At  last !  (Coaxingly.)  And  now,  you  must  think  of 
your  father,  Willy.  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  but 
since  you  have  a  favour  to  ask  your  father,  you 
mustn't  wait  till  he  comes  down  to  you. 

WILLIAM. 
Did  father  think  of  coming  down  to  dinner  ? 

IDA. 

Of  course !     Mamma  has — 

[William  seizes  Ida  suddenly  in  his  arms  and 
presses  her  to  him  impulsively  with  passionate 
strength. 

IDA. 

Oh — oh — you — If  anyone — my  hair  will  be  all — 
D  49 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

[  William  lets  his  arms  fall  nervelessly  from  round 
her,  folds  his  hands,  hangs  his  head,  and  stands 
before  her  suddenly  sobered,  like  an  arrested 
criminal. 

(Smoothing  her  hair.)  Oh,  what  a  rough  boy  you  are, 
sometimes ! 

WILLIAM. 

Rough  you  call  it — I  should  call  it  something  quite 
different. 

IDA. 

Oh,  Willy !  why  are  you  so  depressed  again  ?  All  in  a 
minute  !  Really,  you're  incorrigible ! 

WILLIAM  (gripping  her  hand,  puts  his  arm  round  her 
shoulders,  makes  her  walk  with  him  quickly  through 
the  hall). 

Incorrigible  ?  Yes — you  see — that's  just  it ;  I'm  afraid 
of  nothing  so  much  as  that  I — as  that— all  your 
trouble  with  me  will  be  thrown  away,  I'm  so  terribly 
changeable!  (Touching  his  forehead.)  There's  no 
peace  here.  Any  second  might  decide  my  fate! 
-^Tmafraid  of  myself!  To  bu  dlwtt^  running  away 
from  one's  self.  Have  you  any  idea  of  what  that 
means  ?  Well,  that's  what  I  am,  what  I  have  been 
all  my  life. 

IDA. 

After  all — but  no,  that  won't  do — 

WILLIAM. 
But  do  say — 

50 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA. 

I've  often  thought — really — it  has  seemed  to  me  so  often 
that — don't  be  angry — but  that  really  there  is  no- 
thing from  which  you  need  fly.  I  myself  sometimes 
think — 

WILLIAM. 

Ah,  my  dearest !  You  mustn't — Did  you  notice  Robert — 
did  you  see  ? 

IDA. 
No— what  ? 

WILLIAM. 

Did  you  see  how  he  met  me  ?  He — you  see — he  knows 
that  I  have  to  fly  from  myself,  he  knows  me.  Just 
ask  him,  he  will  make  it  clear  to  you,  that  is  to  say, 
he  threatens  to — Ah,  I  know  better !  Only  just  watch 
how  he  always  looks  at  me.  He  means  me  to  be 
anxious,  to  be  frightened — Ha!  ha!  ha!  No,  my 
dear  brother,  we're  not  so  pitiful  as  all  that  yet ! 
And  now  you  do  see,  don't  you,  Ida,  that  I  daren't 
let  you — I  mean,  you  mustn't  have  any  illusions 
about  me.  There  is  only  one  way.  I  must  be  frank 
with  you — I  must  manage  that  somehow — I  fight  for 
that.  When  you  know  me  through  and  through, 
then  —  I  mean  if  you  can  bear  with  me,  if  you 
can  still — love  me — then — that  would  be — then  I 
think  something  might  arise  in  me,  something  brave, 
even  proud — then  I  should  really  live,  and  if  they 
were  all  to  despise  me —  (Ida  nestles  against  him  de- 
votedly.) And  now,  before  I  go  up  to  father,  I'll 
tell  you  too — you  know  what  I  mean  ?  [Ida  nods. 
51 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

WILLIAM. 

>w  you  shall — I  must  force  myself  to  tell  you  what 
this — between  me  and  my  father — yes,  Ida,  I  will 
do  it —  (They  walk  arm  in  arm.)  Just  imagine! 
I  was  here  on  a  visit. — No,  I  can't  begin  like  that, 
I  must  go  farther  back.  You  know  before  that  I 
had  been  making  my  own  way  for  a  long  time.  I 
suppose  I  hadn't  told  you  that  ? 

IDA. 

No — But  quietly,  only  not  so  much — Don't  excite  your- 
self so,  Willy ! 

WILLIAM. 

You  see — there  again !  I  am  a  coward.  I've  never  yet 
dared  to  tell  you  what  my  life  has  been.  In  any 
case  it's  a  risk — it's  a  risk — even  to  one's  self.  Ah ! 
well,  if  I  can't  even  bring  myself  to  that  point,  how 
shall  I  ever  manage  to  go  up  to  father  ? 

IDA. 

Ah,  don't — don't  torture  yourself  so !  just  now,  when  you 
have  so  much  to  bear ! 

WILLIAM. 

Ah !  you  are  afraid  ?  You're  afraid  of  what  you  may 
hear? 

IDA. 

Sh !  you  must  not  speak  like  that. 

WILLIAM. 

Well  then,  just  picture  it.     Father  spent  his  life  up  there. 
He  had  always  lived  alone  till  he  met  mother,  and 
52 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

he  soon  fell  back  into  the  old  lonely,  fantastic  way 
of  life.  All  of  a  sudden  he  descended  on  us — Robert 
and  me, — he  never  troubled  his  head  about  Augusta. 
.  .  .  Icn  solid  hourn  n  day  TTO  pored  river  hrmln ; 
when  IlonLaiour  prison — even  to-day— it  was  next 

i  ~  '   ^--—  w 

Es  study — you  must  have  seen  it? 

IDA. 

The  great  room  upstairs  ? 

WILLIAM. 

Yes,  that  one.  Once  we  had  entered  that  room,  the  sun 
might  shine  as  brightly  as  it  liked  through  the 
windows,  it  was  night  for  us  inside.  Well,  then, 
you  see,  we  used  to  take  refuge  with  mother; 
we  simply  ran  away  from  him ;  and  then  there  used 
to  be  scenes — mother  pulling  me  by  one  arm,  father 
by  the  other.  It  came  to  this,  that  Friebe  had  to 
carry  us  upstairs.  We  defended  ourselves  :  we  used 
to  bite  his  hands.  Of  course,  nothing  was  any  use  ; 
our  life  only  became  more  unendurable — but  we 
remained  obstinate  and — I  know  now — father  began 
to  hate  us.  We  drove  him  to  such  a  point  that  one 
day  he  hunted  us  downstairs ;  he  couldn't  endure  us 
any  more,  the  very  sight  of  us  was  hateful  to  him. 


IDA. 

But  your  father — you'll  admit  he  meant  well — he  wanted 
you  to  learn  a  great  deal,  and  so — 

WILLIAM. 

Up  to  a  certain  point  he  may  have  meant  well — may  have 
— but  at  that  time  we  were  only  boys  of  nine  or  ten 
53 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 


and  afterwards  the  good  intentions  disappeared.  On 
the  contrary,  his  intention  then  was  to  let  us  go 
utterly  to  ruin.  Yes,  yes,  mother  was  a  cipher. 
For  five  years  we  were  left  to  ourselves  in  the 
most  reckless  way  :  we  were  scamps  and  loafers. 
I  had  one  thing  left  —  my  music  ;  Robert  had  nothing. 
But  we  took  to  other  things  besides.  We  shall 
scarcely  ever  get  over  the  effects  of  some  of  them.  — 
At  last  I  suppose  father's  conscience  pricked  him  ; 
there  were  frightful  scenes  with  mother.  In  the  end 
we  were  packed  off  to  an  Institution,  and  when  I 
could  not  stand  the  slavery  of  that  any  more  and 
ran  away,  he  had  me  stopped  and  sent  to  Hamburg. 
The  good-for-nothing  should  go  to  America.  The 
good-for-nothing  naturally  ran  away  again.  I  let 
my  parents  alone  and  starved  and  fought  my  own 
way  through  the  world.  Robert  has  much  the  same 
experience  to  look  back  upon.  Nevertheless,  in 
father's  eyes  we  have  remained  good-for-nothings  : 
later  on  I  was  simple  enough  to  ask  him  for  some 
help  —  as  a  right,  not  as  charity  ;  I  wanted  to  go  to 
the  Conservatoire.  Then  he  wrote  to  me,  on  a 
postcard,  "Be  a  cobbler."  And  so  you  see,  Ida, 
we  are  in  a  way  self-made  men,  but  we're  not 
particularly  proud  of  it 


(smiling). 

Really,  Willy,  I  can't  help  it  !  I  do  sympathise  with  you 
so,  but  at  this  moment  I  can't  help  —  Oh,  don't  look 
so  strangely  at  me,  please  —  please  — 

WILLIAM. 

Ah,  Ida,  it's  bitter,  not  a  thing  to  laugh  at. 

54 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA  (breaking  out). 

It's  a  feeling  of  joy,  William !  I  must  tell  you !  It  may 
be  selfish,  but  I  am  so  inexpressibly  glad  that  you — 
that  you  can  be  so  much  in  need  of — Ah,  I  will  be  so 
good  to  you,  Willy.  I  see  clearly  what  I  have  to  do. 
Ah!  I  am  quite  confused!  I  pity  you  so,  but  the 
more  I  pity  you,  the  more  glad  I  am.  Do  you 
understand  ?  I  mean,  I  am  thinking  how  I  may 
perhaps — everything — all  the  love  that  you  have  had 
to  go  without — I  may  perhaps  more  than — 

WILLIAM. 

If  I'm  only  worth  it — for  now  something  is  coming  for 
which  I  alone  am  to  blame — Years  ago — no  !  it's — 
I  used  to  come  afterwards  on  a  sort  of  visit  to  mother. 
Picture  to  yourself,  Ida,  when  I  saw  all  that  misery 
again,  just  imagine  how  I  used  to  feel. 

IDA. 
Your  mother — suffered  very  much  ? 

WILLIAM. 

I  think  differently  now  in  many  ways  about  mother.  In 
any  case,  father  was  most  to  blame.  In  those  days  it 
used  to  seem  to  me  as  if  he  kept  mother  here  against 
her  will.  I  even  wanted  her  to  separate  from  him. 

IDA. 
But,  your  mother  surely  couldn't — 

WILLIAM. 

She  didn't  see  it  as  I  did.  She  hadn't  the  courage. 
Well,  what  father  used  to  look  like  in  my  eyes,  you 
can  perhaps  imagine. 

55 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

IDA. 

But  William !  Perhaps  you  too,  were  not  quite  just  to 
your  father — a  man — 

WILLIAM  {without  noticing  Idas  interruption.} 

Once  I  committed  the  folly  of  bringing  a  friend — nonsense ! 
not  a  friend,  a  chance  acquaintance,  a  musical  fellow. 
I  brought  him  here  with  me.  That  was  quite  re- 
freshing for  mother;  she  played  duets  with  him 
every  day  for  a  whole  week,  and  then — frightful ! — 
as  true  as  I'm  here  he  —  not  the  shadow  of  a 
possibility !  Yet  at  the  end  of  the  week  even  the 
servants  flung  it  in  her  face ! 

IDA. 
Forgive  me !     I  don't — I — flung  what  ? 

WILLIAM. 

Mother — mother  was  supposed  to — my  mother — supposed 
to — just  think,  they  actually  dared  to  accuse  her  of 
it  openly,  she — a  secret  understanding  with — that  she 
— I  taxed  her  with  it — the  girl  who  said  it — insolent 
— the  coachman  had  told  her.  I  went  to  the  coach- 
man, and  he — he  stuck  to  it — had  it  from  the  master, 
from  the  master  himself — ,  naturally  I — was  it  possible 
I  could  believe  such  a  thing !  At  least  I  tried  not  to 
— until  I  myself  overheard — in  the  stables — father 
and  the  stable  boy — you  may  believe  my  very  hands 
tingled  when  I  heard  him — about  my  mother. 

IDA. 

Only  do  be — try — don't  excite  yourself  so  fearfully.  You 
are  quite — 

56 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

I  don't  know  any  more — I  only  know  there  is  something  / 
in  a  man — his  will  is  a  mere  wisp  of  straw.     One  ' 
must  go  through  it  to — It  swept  over  me  like  a 
flood.    A  state  like — and  in  this  state  I  found  myself 
suddenly  in  father's  room.     I  saw  him.     He  was 
doing  something — I  can't  remember  what.    And  then 
I — literally — I  thrashed  him — with  these  hands. 

[He  can  scarcely  hold  himself  up. 

[Ida  dries  the  tears  from   her  eyes.      Pale  and 

trembling  she  stands  some  moments  looking  at 

William,  then,  crying  quietly,  kisses  him  on  the 

forehead. 

WILLIAM. 

You  angel  of  pity !     (The  Doctor's  voice  is  heard  on  the 
stair.)    And  now — if  ever — 

[He  braces  himself,  Ida  kisses  him  again.  He  has 
gripped  her  hand.  As  the  voice  of  the  Doctor 
ceases,  merry  laughter  is  heard  from  room  B. 

WILLIAM  (alluding  to  the  laughter,  as  well  as  to  the 
Doctors  step,  heard  descending  the  stairs). 

You  have  a  wonderful  power. 

[Another  hand  grip  between  them,  and  before  Ida 
goes  out  she  turns  round. 

IDA  (again  seizing  William's  hand  at  door). 

Be  brave.  [Exit. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (still  on  the  stairs). 

Eh !    Nonsense  !    To  the  right,  Friebe.    Eh !    My  elbow  I 
leave  go,  leave  go !     Confound  you. 
57 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

[During  the  Doctors  approach  William  shows  more 
and  more  excitement.  His  colour  changes  quickly, 
he  thrusts  his  hands  through  his  hair,  breathes 
deeply,  makes  movements  with  his  right  hand  as 
though  playing  the  piano.  It  is  quite  evident 
that  he  is  torn  by  different  emotions,  that  his 
resolution  is  shaken.  He  seems  about  to  rush 
away,  but  is  stopped  by  the  Doctors  entrance. 
He  has  caught  hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair  to 
support  himself  and  stands  there  white  and 
trembling.  The  Doctor,  drawn  up  to  his  full 
imposing  height,  measures  his  son  with  a  look 
fx  in  which  terror,  hate  and  contempt  are  expressed. 
There  is  a  silence.  Friebe,  who  has  entered  with 
the  Doctor,  whom  he  has  led  and  lighted  down  the 
stairs,  makes  use  of  the  pause  to  slink  away  into 
the  kitchen.  William  shows  marked  signs  of  his 
mental  conflict.  He  tries  to  speak,  his  voice  fails 
him,  only  his  lips  move  noiselessly.  He  takes  his 
hand  from  the  chair  back  and  steps  up  to  the  old 
man.  He  stumbles,  staggers,  and  almost  falls ; 
stops  and  tries  to  speak  again,  and  cannot ;  drags 
himself  nearer,  and  clasping  his  hands,  sinks  at 
the  old  man's  feet.  In  Doctor  Scholz's  face  the 
expression  has  changed  from  hate  to  astonishment, 
growing  sympathy  and  confusion. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

My  boy — my  dear  boy !     My — (he  tries  to  raise  him  by 
his  hands.)    Only  get  up  !    (He  takes  William's  head, 
which  has  sunk  between  both  hands,  and   turns  it 
58 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

towards  him.)    My  boy — only  look  at  me!     Ah! 
what  is  the  matter?  [William  moves  his  lips. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (with  trembling  voice). 
What — what  are  you  saying  to  me  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Father— I— 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

What  ? — Do  you  mean  ? 

WILLIAM. 
I  have — I  h — ha — have — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Nonsense,  nonsense.     No  more  of  such — 

WILLIAM. 
I  have  sinned  against  you — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Nonsense,  nonsense.  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about!  Bygones  are  bygones!  For  my  sake — my 
boy! 

WILLIAM. 

Only  take  it  from  me !     Take  this  burden  from  me  ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Forgiven  and  forgotten,  boy !     Forgiven  and  forgotten ! 

WILLIAM. 
Thank— 

[He  draws  a  deep  breath  and  loses  consciousness. 
59 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

My  boy  !     What  are  you  doing — what — 

[He  lifts  William,  quite  unconscious,  drags  and  puts 
him  in  a  large  armchair  near-^R.jMbJfe.  Whilst 
he  does  so,  Ida,  Robert,  Augusta,  Mrs  Scholz  and 
Mrs  Buchner  come  hastily  out  of  dining-room, 
Friebe  out  of  the  kitchen. 
Some  wine — quick,  some  wine. 

[Ida  in  a  moment  goes  and  returns  with  wine. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  God-oh-God-oh-God  ! ! !  water !  sprinkle  him  with 
water ! 

[Dr  Scholz  puts  wine  to  his  mouth. 

AUGUSTA. 
What  was  it  ? 

IDA  (pale  and  in  tears,  laying  one  cheek  against 

William's  arm). 
How  icy  cold  he  is. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

But  what  has  the  boy  got  into  such  a  state  of  excitement 
for  ?  that's  what  I  should  like  to  know.  That  is  com- 
pletely— 

ROBERT  (seizes  her  hand  and  stops  her). 
Mother ! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

Sprinkle  more  water,  more  water,  Doctor ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Teh !  Teh  !  have  none  of  you  any  Eau-de-Cologne  ? 

60 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Yes  (giving  him  small  bottle).     Please — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Thanks.  [He  wets  the  fainting  man's  brow. 

IDA  (to  Doctor). 

It  is  only — isn't  it  ?  but  (she  bursts  into  tears)  he  looks  so 
— just  as  if  he  were — he  looks  like  death. 

[Robert  comforts  Ida. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Why,  the  poor  boy's  in  a  cold  sweat. 

[  Wipes  his  brow  ;  William  yawns. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Sh! 

[He  and  the  rest  watch  William  in  suspense. 
William  clears  his  throat,  stretches  himself,  opens 
and  shuts  his  eyes  like  one  overcome  with  sleep, 
lays  his  head  back  as  if  to  sleep. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (audibly). 
Thank  God ! 

[He  straightens  himself,  wipes  his  forehead  with  his 
handkerchief,  and  half  touched,  half  embarrassed, 
surveys  the  others.  Ida  has  fallen  on  her  mother's 
neck  between  laughter  and  tears.  Robert,  hardly 
master  of  his  emotion,  stands  with  clasped  hands 
and  glances  at  the  others  alternately.  Augusta 
goes  hastily  up  and  down,  her  handkerchief 
pressed  to  her  mouth,  and  every  time  she  passes 
William  pauses  a  moment  to  look  at  him  search- 
61 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

ingly.  Friebe  goes  out  on  tiptoe.  The  Doctor's 
eyes  meet  his  wife's ;  touched,  she  ventures  timidly 
to  approach  him,  gently  seizes  his  hand  and  pats 
his  back. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Dear  old  man ! 

AUGUSTA  (following  her  mother,  embraces  and  kisses  her 
father,  who  suffers  it  without  removing  his  hand  from 
his  wife's. 

My  dearest  father ! 

[Robert  with  sudden  resolution  steps  up  to  his  father 
and  shakes  his  hand.  Mrs  Scholz  lets  go  of  the 
Doctor's  hand  and  leads  Ida  to  him.  Dr  Scholz 
looks  first  at  Ida,  then  at  William,  and  then  at 
Mrs  Buchner.  Mrs  Buchner  nods  assent.  Dr 
Scholz  makes  a  grimace  which  expresses  "  /  will 
say  nothing  against  it,  I  may  be  mistaken,"  and 
then  stretches  out  his  hand  to  the  girl.  Ida  comes 
to  him,  takes  his  hand,  bends  over  it  and  kisses 
it.  Dr  Scholz  immediately  draws  his  hand  back, 
startled.  William  sighs  deeply  ;  all  look  at  him. 
Augusta  goes  off  to  the  adjoining  room,  beckoning 
Mrs  Scholz.  Mrs  Scholz  makes  a  sign  to  the 
Doctor  that  they  should  all  go  into  the  next  room 
because  of  William.  Dr  Scholz  nods  assentingly 
and  goes  off  quietly  hand  in  hand  with  Mrs 
Scholz.  Mrs  Buchner,  who  has  signed  to  Ida 
to  remain  with  William,  also  goes. 

ROBERT  (in  a  low  voice). 

Miss  Ida,  would  you — would  you  [leave  me  to  watch 
him? 

62 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA  (with  joyful  surprise). 
Yes,  indeed. 

[Presses  his  hand  and  goes  off  after  the  others. 
Robert  draws  a  chair  near  to  William  and  sits 
down,  watching  him.  After  a  time  he  takes  his 
pipe  from  his  pocket,  is  about  to  light  it,  then 
suddenly  remembers  the  presence  of  his  brother  and 
puts  it  back.  William  sighs  and  stretches  his  limbs. 

ROBERT  (quickly,  cautiously). 
William ! 

WILLIAM  (clears  his  throat,  opens  his  eyes,  not  realising 
at  first  where  he  is,  and  then  as  though  Robert  had 
only  just  spoken). 

Yes. 

ROBERT. 

How  do  you  feel  now  ? 

WILLIAM  (after  looking  thoughtfully  at  Robert, 

in  a  weak  voice). 
Robert?     Eh? 

ROBERT. 
Yes,  it's  I,  Robert.     How  do  you  feel  ? 

WILLIAM. 

Well,  (clears  his  throat)  quite  well,  now. 

[He  laughs  constrainedly,  makes  a  faint  attempt  to 
get  up,  but  fails. 

ROBERT. 

Oh,  that's  a  little  bit  too  soon,  eh  ? 

63 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

[  William  nods,  sighs  and  shuts  his  eyes  again  as  if 
exhausted.  Pause.  William  re-opens  his  eyes 
fully  and  speaks  low  but  clearly. 

WILLIAM. 
What  has  been  going  on  here  ? 

ROBERT. 

I  think,  Willy,  it  will  be  best  if  we  let  that  be  for  the 
present.  I'll  assure  you  of  one  thing,  it's  something 
that  I,  for  one,  would  never  have  believed  possible. 

WILLIAM  (with  emotion). 
Nor  I. 

ROBERT. 

How  on  earth  should  a  fellow — ah,  rubbish !  It  was 
absolutely  impossible  to  foresee  it.  All  the  same  it 
happened. 

WILLIAM. 

It  comes  back  to  me  now,  little  by  little ;  it  was  pleasant 

[His  eyes  Jill  with  tears. 

ROBERT  (with  a  slight  quiver  in  his  voice). 

Sentimental !  Just  like  a  woman !  There's  one  thing 
certain,  our  judgment  was  pretty  wide  of  the 
mark ;  we  haven't  known  the  old  man  really ;  it's  no 
use  thinking  we  have. 

WILLIAM. 
Father  ?    No,  we  were  all  so  blind !  so  blind  ! 

ROBERT. 

Yes,  God  knows,  we  were. 

~64 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

rid  fellow  r 


us  ;  he's  a  real  gopdsort.  ___ 

ROBERT. 
He  can  be,  and  till  nowfl  neYejr.Jkne.w-i 


WILLIAM. 
A  good  deal  is  beginning  to  dawn  on  me. 

ROBERT. 

With  my  brain  and  so  on,  you  know,  I  have  grasped  it 
long  enough.  Everything  that  happened  had  to  be  ; 
I  never  held  father  responsible  —  at  least,  I  haven't 
for  years.  Certainly  not  for  me  —  not  for  any  of 
us.  But  to-day  I  have  really  felt  it  ;  and  that,  you 
know,  is  quite  another  thing  —  Frankly,  it's  taken 
me  right  off  my  balance.  When  I  saw  him  so  —  so 
anxious  over  you,  it  was  like  a  blow  to  me  ;  and  now 
I  shall  always  be  thinking  :  —  That  was  there,  living, 
in  us.  —  Why  on  earth  didn't  it  show  itself  before  ? 
In  father  —  in  you  —  and,  by  God  !  in  me  too.  It  was 
there  in  us  !  And  there  he  has  been  stifling  it  in  him- 
self —  father,  I  mean  —  yes,  and  we  too,  for  years  and 
years  — 

WILLIAM..  -------  —  • 

I  see  one  thing  :  we  not  only  show  a  different  self  to  every 
one  of  our  fellow-creatures,  but  we  are  fundamentally 
different  to  each. 
E  65 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

ROBERT. 

But  why  must  it  be  so  with  us  ?  Why  must  we  for  ever 
keep  each  other  at  such  a  distance  ? 

WILLIAM. 

I'll  tell  you  why ;  because  we  have  no  natural  goodness 
of  heart.  Take  Ida  for  instance  :  what  you  have  got 
at  by  hard  thinking  is  natural  to  her.  She  never  sits 
in  judgment,  she  treats  everything  so  gently,  with 
such  sympathy,  and  that  spares  people  so  much — 
you  understand — and  I  believe  it  is  that — 

ROBERT  (abruptly,  rises). 
How  do  you  feel  now  ? 

WILLIAM. 
I  feel  relieved — free. 

ROBERT. 

Ah  !  what's  the  use  of  all  that — H'm !  what  was  I  going 
to  say — Perhaps  it  will  turn  out  all  right  for  you. 

WILLIAM. 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

ROBERT. 

What  should  I  mean  ?    For  you  and — for  Ida,  of  course. 

WILLIAM. 

Perhaps !  Those  two  have  such  a  power — Mrs  Buchner 
too — but  particularly  Ida.  I  have  thought  that  might 
save  me — At  first  I  checked  myself — 

ROBERT  (thoughtfully). 

Yes  they  have !  they  have  a  power,  and  just  because  of 
that — at  first — I — to  be  frank,  I  blamed  you. 
66 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 
I  felt  it. 

ROBERT. 

Well  just  think.  I  heard  something  about  an  engage- 
ment, and  then  I  saw  Ida;  she  was  so  merry, 
singing,  up  and  down  stairs,  without  the  least 
thought  of— 

WILLIAM  (rising). 

Well  I  understood  you,  I  even  felt  you  were  right. 
What  would  you  have ! 

ROBERT. 

Well — I  too  am — I  must  admit  it's  quite  a  different 
matter  now — As  I — as  I  said — it  was  chiefly — Quite 
jolly  again  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Perfectly. 

ROBERT. 

Then  you'll  come  along  soon  ? 

WILLIAM. 
I'll  only  just — you  go  first. 

ROBERT. 
Right.     (Going,  stops.)  J[.canrt  help  it — I've  got  to  tell 


you.  "Your  whole  conduciP-abotit  iath.ery-^n^=:=^'  \ 
altogether  —  it's  something  to  admire.  With  my 
cursed  prejudices — I  too — downright  accused  you. 
One — devil  take  it !  It's  a  long  time  since  I've  had 
such  a  desire  to  spit  at  myself.  You're  glad  to  hear 
that,  eh?  -Wettf-perhttps  you'll  do  me  the  favour 
67 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  11. 

to — if  I — I've  certainly  done  ray  level  best  to  vex  you 
since  you've  been  home,  so — I'm  sorry  for  it — there  ! 

WILLIAM. 
Brother !  [They  shake  hands  warmly. 

ROBERT  (takes  his  hand  quietly  out  of  William's,  brings 
out  his  pipe,  lights  it  and  puffs  smoke,  then  says  as 
if  to  himself). 

Acrobatic  soul !  (Puff,  puff.)  Well,  well !  (He  turns  to 
go;  before  opening  the  door  R.  he  speaks  over  his 
shoulder  to  William.)  I'll  send  her  out  to  you. 

WILLIAM. 
Ah,  never  mind ! — Well,  if  you  really — 

[Robert  nods  and  disappears  through  the  doorway. 
William  draws  a  deep  breath,  deep  joy  at  what  has 
happened  possesses  him. 

IDA  (comes  from  the  adjoining  room,  flies  into 
his  arms.) 

Willy!!! 

WILLIAM. 

Now — you — you  two  golden  hearts  have  set  me  free. 
A  new  life !  You  can't  think  how  that  inspires 
me.  I  seem  quite  great  in  my  own  eyes  ! — Ah, 
Ida,  I  can  only  now  realise — how  frightfully  that 
weighed  upon  me,  and  now  I  feel  such  strength — 
such  strength,  Ida !  You  may  rely  on  me,  I  will 
show  him  what  the  "  good-for-nothing  "  can  do.  I'll 
give  father  proofs.  I  will  show  him  there  is  some- 
thing in  me  :  strength,  living  power  as  an  artist,  before 
which  all  shall  bow — the  stiffest  necks  shall  bend — I 
68 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

feel  it !    Only  that  has  crippled  me.    Now  my  fingers 
are  twitching  !     I  could  compose,  create — 

IDA. 

Ah  you  see !     Now  it's  all  right !     Now  I  have  your  own 
old    self    again— Pfigrfiat,    T    ™"1^    anfr — J    ^piild— . 
shoutfor_j0y, — Wasn't  I  right'? — Nothing  \vnn  jjrmL 
in  you,  it  only  slept.     It  will  all  wake  anew,  as  I 

'always  toTf^ 

^embraces  and  kisses  him.     'Still  embracing  they 
pace  the  room  in  silent  happiness. 

WILLIAM  (stopping,  and  looking  with  happy  bewilder- 
ment first  into  her  eyes,  then  round  the  room). 

In   these  cold  dreary  walls — what  joy  —  like  blooming 
spring ! 

[They  kiss  each  other,  closely  entwined  in  silent 
happiness.     They  continue  walking. 

IDA  (sings  softly  to  the  same  tune  as  her  song 
in  Act  I.  roguishly). 

Now  you  see  how  right  I  was. 

[Mrs  Scholz  comes  a  step  into  the  room,  sees  the 
lovers  and  is  going  quickly  out. 

IDA  (noticing  her,  breaks  off  her  song,  and  runs 
up  to  her). 

You're  not  to  run  away,  little  mother-in-law ! 
MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah,  why  not !     You  don't  need  me.     (  William  embraces 
and  kisses  his  mother  and  helps  to  pull  her  into  the 
room.)    (Crossly)  You  are  so  awkward!     You  are 
— you  are  pulling  me  to  pieces. 
69 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

WILLIAM. 

Oh,  mother!  what  does  that  matter  to-day — Mother! 
You  see  quite  another  man  before  you!  (Between 
his  mother  and  Ida,  holding  a  hand  of  each.)  Come, 
little  old  mother,  look  at  one  another  in  the  eyes, 
give  each  other  your  hands. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Silly  fellow ! 

WILLIAM. 
Kiss  each  other ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (after  wiping  Iier  mouth  with  her  apron}. 

There,  stupid  boy,  if  nothing  else  will  do. — You  needn't 
use  force  to  us. — There,  Ida! 

[They  kiss  each  other  laughing. 

WILLIAM. 
And  now — peace ! 

— MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Unberufen,  my  boy  ! 

[Friebe  comes  out  of  the  kitchen  carrying  a  steaming 
punch-bowl,  goes  towards  the  next  room. 

WILLIAM. 
Oho  !     What  have  we  here  ?     Is  it  good,  Friebe  ? 

FRIEBE  (wossing  room). 

Ay,  if  you  was  to  set  thirty  such  like  in  front  of  me,  not  a 
gulp  would  I  let  down  my  throat. 

WILLIAM. 
Really  not,  Friebe  ? 

70 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

FRIEBE. 

There  was  a  time — ay,  yes — but  now  I've  sworn  off,  ages 
ago.     Now  I  drink  only — mostly  bitters.     [Goes  out. 

IDA  (who  has  been  tying  William's  necktie  and 

pulling  his  coat  straight). 
There!  now — 

WILLIAM. 

Thank  you,  darling. — Is  father  in  good  spirits  ? 

MRS  SOHOLZ. 

He's  telling  his  tales.     Often  one  can't  understand  a 
word. 

WILLIAM. 

My  heart  is  beginning  to  beat  again. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
If  only  Robert  would  not  drink  so  much  ! 

WILLIAM. 
Ah,  mother,  to-day ! — to-day  nothing  matters  !    To-day — 

IDA. 

Now  come  along  quickly,  before  you — 

WILLIAM  (to  Mrs  Scholz). 

You're  coming  too  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Only  be  off  with  you !     Be  off ! 

[Ida  and  William  go  into  the  next  room.    Mrs  Scholz 
stands  thinking,  draws  her  hand  over  her  brow, 
and  moved  by  a  sudden  idea,  goes  to  the  door  of 
the  adjoining  room  where  she  listens. 
71 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

FRIEBE  (steps  in  through  the  same  door.     He  is 

evidently  excited). 
Missis ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
What  do  you  want  ? 

FRIEBE  (whispering  mysteriously). 
I've  got  a — surprise,  Mrs  Sch — olz — 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (shrinking  back). 
You've  been  drinking !     You — 

FRIEBE. 

I've  been  on  the  look  out,  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  I've — got 
something  to  tell  you. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well  ?  yes,  yes !  Only  say  quickly  what  you've  got  to 
say. 

FRIEBE. 
H'm,  I  only  mean — 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  speak  then,  Friebe. 

FRIEBE. 

I  only  mean — that's  not  the  way.  In  my  position  there  are 
many  things  I  mustn't  talk  about.  I  only  mean  your 
husband — he  can't  possibly  keep  it  up  much  longer  — 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  Jesus !  Jesus !  Friebe !  has  he — has  he — complained  ? 
then,  0  Jesus  !  is  he  ill  ? 
72 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

FRIEBE. 
Ah,  as  to  that,  what  should  I  know  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
But  what  has  he  complained  of? 

FRIEBE. 
That— I  wasn't  to— tell— 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Is  it  true  though?    (Friebe  nods.)    But  he  can't  have 
spoken  of  his  death  ? 

FRIEBE. 
Ah,  more  than  that, — he's  said  pretty  things ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Now  for  goodness  sake  do  tiy  and  speak  clearly.    Drunken 
creature ! 

FRIEBE  (angry). 

Yes,  I'm — neither  the  gardener  nor  the  boot  boy  ;  and  as 

to  what  may  happen — I  shouldn't  need — in  every 

I  position  what  I  want  most — in  my  position,  but  no ! — 

I  Now  you  have  the  whole  thing  clear ! 

I  [He  wheels  round,  goes  off  into  the  kitchen. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
The  man's  gone  crazy. 

[Ida  enters  through  door  of  the  adjoining  room, 
shuts  it  behind  her  ;  opening  it  a  little  again  she 
calls  into  the  room. 

73 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  n. 

IDA. 
Wait,  good  people.     Quiet !     No  impatience  ! 

WILLIAM  (pressing  into  the  room). 

But  I  want  to  help. 

IDA. 
No  one  else,  then. 

[Ida  and  William  light  Christmas  Tree  candles. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
But,  William,  listen  a  minute. 

WILLIAM  (busy}. 

Directly,  little  mother. — Just  ready. 

[The  Christmas  Tree,  the  candelabra  and  the 
chandelier  are  lighted.  Ida  removes  a  large 
table  cover  which  has  been  thrown  over  presents 
on  the  table.  William  goes  to  his  mother. 

IDA  (calls  through  door  R). 
Now! 

[Mrs  Scholz,  who  is  just  going  to  speak  to  William, 
is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Dr  Scholz,  who  is 
followed  by  Augusta,  Robert  and  Mrs  Buchner. 
Dr  Scholz,  his  face  reddened  with  drinking. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (with  affected  astonishment). 

Ah!     Ah! 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Fairylike ! 

[Augusta  smiles  constrainedly ;  Robert  goes  about 
pipe  in  mouth  at  first  embarrassed,  then  smiling 
more  and  more  ironically.     William  notices  this 
with  great  annoyance. 
74 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA  (draws  William  to  the  table  where  the  presents  lie). 
Don't  laugh  at  me,  Willy.  [Gives  him  his  purse. 

WILLIAM. 
But — Ida — I  begged  you — 

IDA. 

I  crocheted  it  once  for  father.  The  year  before  his  death 
he  used  it  often,  and  so  I  thought — 

WILLIAM  (with  increasing  embarrassment  under 
Robert's  eyes). 

Yes — yes. — Ever  so  many  thanks,  Ida ! 

ROBERT. 
Things  only  want  to  be  more  practical. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (who  has  been  led  to  the  table  by 
Mrs  Buchner). 

But  what  have  you  been  doing !  You  cannot — I  have 
nothing  for  you.  (Seeing  a  crocheted  shawl.)  No, 
no !  Only  think !  —  You  crocheted  that  for  me 
— an  old  woman  like  me?  Well  then,  I  do  thank 
you,  many,  many  times.  [They  kiss  one  another. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Ah !  I'm  only  too  glad  if  it  pleases  you. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Beautiful — wonderful — lovely.  The  time  and  the  trouble ! 
I  never ! 

75 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

IDA. 

I've  something  for  you  too,  Mr  Robert,  but  you  mustn't 
laugh  at  me ! 

ROBERT  (getting  scarlet). 

Ah !  what  now  ? 

IDA. 

I  thought — your  pipe — the  next  thing  it  will  be  burning 
your  nose  and  so  I've  had  pity  on  you,  and  yesterday 
I —  (Shows  a  new  pipe  which  she  has  hitherto  held 
behind  her  back  and  gives  it  to  him.)  Here  is  the 
masterpiece !  [All  amused. 

ROBERT  (without  taking  the  pipe). 
You're  joking,  Miss  Ida ! 

IDA. 
Ah  well ! — But  I'm  in  deadly  earnest  over  the  present ! 

ROBERT. 
No,  no,  I  can't  believe  that. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (aside  to  William). 

Robert  is  unbearable ! 

IDA. 
Ah,  but  no — really — 

ROBERT. 

You  see,  this  thing  here — I've  got  used  to  it — and  of 
course  you  don't  really  mean  it ! 
76 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

IDA  (her  eyes  full  of  tears,  conquering  her  hurt  feelings  ; 
with  trembling  voice). 

Well,  then,  if  you'd  rather  — 

[Puts  the  present  back  on  the  table. 

MRS  BUCHNER  (who  during  the  foregoing  has  several 
times  spoken  to  Ida,  now  hurries  to  her). 

Ida,  darling,  have  you  forgotten  ? 

IDA. 
What,  mamma  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

You  know  !     (To  the  others)  You're  all  going  to  hear 
something. 

[Ida,  glad  to  hide  her  emotion  in  this  way,  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  her  mother  into  the  next  room. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (to  Robert). 
Why  did  you  spoil  her  pleasure  for  her  ? 


WILLIAM  (twisting  the  ends  of  his  jnorrjiachc  nrrrmrrfy  ; 
walks  up  and  down  casting  threatening  glances  at 
Robert). 

ROBERT. 

What  now  ?  How  do  you  mean  ?  I  don't  know  what 
you  want 

AUGUSTA. 

Well,  it  certainly  wasn't  exactly  friendly. 

ROBERT. 

Do  leave  me  alone.     Besides,  what  should  I  do  with  it  ? 

77 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

[Song  and  piano  accompaniment  from  next  room 
interrupt  speakers.  All  look  at  one  another, 
startled. 

IDA'S  VOICE. 

Oh,  come  little  children, 
Oh,  come  one  and  all, 
Come  here  to  the  manger 

In  Bethlehem's  stall. 
Behold  all  the  gladness 
This  wonderful  night, 
Our  Father  in  Heaven 

Has  wrought  in  his  might. 

[Dr  Scholz,  noticing  Robert's  behaviour,  has  grown 
steadily  gloomier.  At  the  beginning  of  the  song 
he  looks  nervously  round  like  someone  who  dreads 
being  attacked  and  seeks  as  far  as  possible  with- 
out being  noticed  to  establish  a  certain  distance 
between  himself  and  the  others. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (at  the  beginning  of  the  song). 
Ah !  how  beautiful ! 

[She  listens  for  a  moment  with  devotion,  then  breaks 
into  sobs.  Robert  moves  slowly  about;  as  the 
song  continues  makes  a  grimace,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Well,  this  is  the  last  straw " ;  walks  further 
on,  smiles  ironically  and  several  times  shakes 
his  head.  Passing  Augusta,  he  says  something 
to  her  half  audibly.  Augusta,  partly  touched  by 
the  song,  now  breaks  out.  William  has  been  stand- 
ing by  the  table,  nervously  drumming  with  his 
fingers,  a  prey  to  conflicting  emotions;  now  his 
face  reddens  with  resentment.  Robert  towards 
78 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

the  end  of  the  song  appears  to  suffer  physically. 
The  impossibility  of  escaping  from  the  impression 
of  Ida's  tones  appears  to  torture  and  embitter  him 
more  and  more.  Just  at  the  end  of  the  verse,  a 
word  escapes  him  involuntarily  like  ihe  fragment 
of  a  soliloquy. 

ROBERT. 

Child's  play  !  (in  a  biting  contemptuous  tone}. 

[All,  including  the  Doctor,  have  heard  him,  and  turn 
to  him  with  a  shocked  expression. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  and  AUGUSTA. 
Robert ! 

[Dr  Scholz  suppresses  an  explosion  of  violent  anger. 
William,  white  with  rage,  steps  up  to  Robert. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (rushing  towards  him,  embraces  him). 
William — for  my  sake ! 

WILLIAM. 
All  right,  mother ! 

[He  goes  up  and  down  controlling  himself  with 
difficulty.  At  this  moment  the  second  verse 
begins  ;  scarcely  are  the  first  tones  heard  when 
with  sudden  resolution  he  goes  to  the  door  of  the 
adjoining  room. 

IDA. 

There  lies  he,  oh  children, 

On  hay  and  on  straw, 
And  Joseph  and  Mary 

Look  on  him  with  awe. 
79 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

The  honest  souled  shepherds 

Kneel  praying  for  love ; 
The  choir  of  the  angels 

Sweeps  singing  above. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (standing  in  his  way). 
William,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

WILLIAM  (breaking  out). 
She  sha'n't  sing  any  more. 

AUGUSTA. 
You  must  be_out  of  your  firindj- 

WILLIAM. 
Let  me  alone.     I  say  she  shall  stop. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah,  but  do — you  really  are — Well  then,  you  won't  see  me 
any  more  this  evening. 

ROBERT. 
Stop,  mother,  let  him  see  to  it.     It's  his  affair. 

WILLIAM. 

Robert,  don't  you  go  too  far.  Take  my  advice;  you've 
already  made  one  touching  scene;  it  only  leaves 
you  more  unbearable. 

ROBERT. 

Quite  true ;  made  a  touching  scene !  That's  just  what  I 
should  call  it. 

[William  goes  again  towards  the  side  room. 
80 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 


MRS  SCHOLZ  (again  restraining  him). 

Oh  God-oh-God-oh-God !     My  boy,  why  must  you  stop 
her  ?  [The  second  verse  comes  to  an  end. 

WILLIAM. 
jcause  you're  none  of  you  worthy  of  it,  not  one  of  you !__ 

ROBERT  (stepping  close  to  William  with  an  insolently 
expressive  look  in  his  eyes). 

You  are,  I  suppose  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  Lord !  you're  beginning  again  ! 
I  [The  third  verse  begins. 

The  children  are  bringing 
I  With  joy  and  good  cheer, 

Milk,  butter  and  honey 
I  To  Bethlehem  here ; 

A  basket  of  apples 

All  yellow  and  red, 
A  snowy  white  lambkin 
With  flower-crowned  head. 

WILLIAM. 
She  shall  stop ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (once  more  restraining  him). 
My  -boy !  J_l • —   — -^______^^ 

WILLIAM. 

Simply  beneath  contempt!     It  is  blasphemy!     It  is  a 
crime  against  these  people  if  we — I — yes,  on  my 
--Jjonour,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  all. 
F  81 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

AUGUSTA  (piqued). 

No,  after  all  we  are  not  so  very  specially  bad  and  con- 
temptible. 

WILLIAM. 

Aug — it  makes  me  sick. 

AUGUSTA. 

Well,  let  it ! — Yes,  yes,  of  course  Tm  to  be  shoved  into 
the  background;  you  must  always  find  fault  with 
your  sister.  Whatever  she  does  is  wrong.  It's 
not  a  bit  fair.  But  your  Miss  Ida — 

WILLIAM  (beside  himself,  interrupting). 
Don't  dare  to  speak  her  name ! ! 

AUGUSTA. 
The  idea !  I  shall  talk  about  Ida  if — 

WILLIAM. 
Leave  her  name  out  of  it,  I  tell  you. 

AUGUSTA. 

You've  gone  mad,  I  think.  I  shall — after  all  she's  not  an 
angel  from  heaven. 

WILLIAM  (screaming  at  her). 
Silence,  I  say ! 

AUGUSTA  (turning  her  back). 
Pah !  you're  just  in  love ! 

WILLIAM  (seizing  her  roughly  by  the  shoulder). 

You  creature !     I — 

82 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

ROBERT  (seizing  William's  arm,  speaks  slowly, 
emflphaaiaina  each  word}. 


perhaps,  William,  you  intend  again —  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Devil ! 

AUGUSTA. 

You  say  that — you,  who  lifted  your  hand  against  your 
own  father ! 

DR  SCHOLZ  (his  voice  trembling  with  rage,  in  a  tone 
of  absolute  command). 

Augusta ! — leave  the  room — this  instant !  ! ! 

AUGUSTA. 
Well ! — I  should  like  to  know — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
Leave  the  room  this  minute. 

>x 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh,  dear  God,  why  can't  I  die  ?  Augusta,  do  you  hear  ? 
(crying)  Obey  your  father  ! 

ROBERT. 

H'm — mother  I  should  blame  her  if  she  did.  She's  not 
a  little  child  any  longer.  Times  have  changed  a 
bit,  God  knows. 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

But  I — /  have  not  changed.     I  am  the  master  in  this 
house — I'll  prove  it  to  you. 
83 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

ROBERT. 
Ridiculous ! 

DR  SCHOLZ  (screaming). 

Scoundrels! — Wretches! — I  disinherit  you — I'll  throw  you 
on  the  streets. 

ROBERT. 

That's  downright  funny. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (masters  a  frightful  outburst  of  rage  and 
speaks  with  ominous  quietness  and  firmness). 

You  or  I — one  of  us  leaves  this  house  this  moment. 

ROBERT. 
I,  of  course,  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (half  commanding,  half  entreating). 

Robert — stay ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

He  shall  go. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Fritz,  listen  to  me.     He  is  the  only  one — all  these  long 
lonely  years,  who  didn't  forget  us.     He — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 
He  or  I  !— 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah,  give  way,  Fritz — for  my  sake ! 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Leave  me  alone — He  or  I  f 

84 


ACT  ii.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah,  I  won't  ask  you  to  meet  each  other — it  can  be 
arranged  quite  easily — but — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Very  y^sj],  T  g"7Q  nrnf — I  give,  way  tu  .yuu  and  yoUr"Crood. 
You  nnd  jourjmrofi     frrnn  tft  finy  ynn  havp  won  the  \ 
^victory !        

Stay,  dear  father — or  if  you  go,  let  me  go  with  you  this 
time. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (involuntarily  stepping  back  between  anger 
and  terror). 

Leave  me  alone!  Good-for-nothing!  (fumbling  among 
his  things}  Scoundrels  and  loafers ! — Good-for- 
nothings  ! 

WILLIAM  (boiling  over). 

Father,  you  call  us  that — when  it's  your  doing  that — Ah, 
Father  dear,  no,  no,  I  will  say  nothing.  Let  me  go 
with  you.  I  will  stay  with  you.  Let  me  atone  for 
all  that  I —  (Laying  his  hand  on  his  father's  arm.) 

DR  SCHOLZ  (as  though  paralysed  with  fright  and  horror, 
draws  back). 

Let  go !  I  tell  you — The  army  of  the  oppressors  shall 
insuredly — shall  assuredly  be  brought  to  shame! 
Are  they  these  people — these  mighty  ones  and  these 
mighty  ones — are  they  men  ?  A  man  like  me,  who 
has  his  faults,  but  still  for  all  that  is  through  and 
through — and  up  and  down — and  short  and  sweet. 
85 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE     ACT  n. 

WILLIAM. 

Father !  father !  dear  father,  come  to  yourself.     Be  your 
own  self. 

DR  SCHOLZ  (swaying  with  the  rhythm  of  the  words, 
half  aloud). 

And  short  and  sweet — and  through  and  through — 

WILLIAM  (embracing  him,  instinctively  seeking  to  control 
his  gestures'). 

Control  yourself,  pull  yourself  together ! 

DR  SCHOLZ  (defending  himself;  imploring  like  a  little 
child). 

Ah !  don't  beat  me !     Don't  punish  me ! 

WILLIAM. 
But  for  God's  sake — 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Don't  beat  me ! — don't  beat  me — again ! 

[He  makes  cramped  efforts  to  free  himself  from 
William's  arms. 

WILLIAM. 

May  my  hand  perish ! — Father  dear,  don't  think  such  a 
thing — dear  father,  don't  dream  it — 
[Dr    Scholz   frees    himself,   flies  from    William 
calling  for  help. 

WILLIAM. 

Father,  you  strike  me,  you  beat  me  \ 

86 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

DR  SCHOLZ. 

Please !  please,  please  help  me. 

[Ida  appears  at  the  door  of  the  room,  deathly  white. 

WILLIAM  (rushes  to  his  father,  puts  his  arms  round  him 

again). 
Strike  me  ! 

DR  SCHOLZ  (sinking  on  a  chair  with  William's  arms 
still  round  him). 

I — ah — ah — a — ah !     I  think — its — all  over — with  me. 

WILLIAM. 
Father ! 

[Mrs  Scholz  and  Augusta  seize  one  another  in  terror. 
Robert,  deathly  white,  has  not  moved.  His  face 
has  an  expression  of  unshakable  determination. 


ACT  III 

Twilight.  All  lights  are  extinguished  except  a  few  on  the 
chandelier,  and  one  on  the  Christmas  tree.  In  front,  near 
the  stove,  William  sits  at  the  table,  his  back  towards 
the  adjoining  room,  sunk  in  dreary  hopeless  meditation. 
Robert  and  Mrs  Scholz  enter  together  from  next  room. 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (looking  worn  out,  in  lowered  tones). 
No,  my  boy,  don't  tell  me !     Now  there's  no  knowing 
what  next.     As  soon  as  trouble  comes — Then,  ah 
well! 

ROBERT. 

You're  not  alone  now,  mother. 

87 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah,  just  listen  to  you!  You  know  better.  It's  too 
absurd.  Where  can  you  be  off  to  in  the  middle  of 
the  night ! 

ROBERT. 

Oh,  there  are  always  trains  and  I  must  go.  I  really  can't 
stand  it  any  longer ;  besides,  its  best  for  all  of  us ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (whimpering). 

These  last  years  it  has  always  been  pleasant.  And  now 
they've  come  back! — Since  those  Buchners  came, 
everything's  turned  upside  down. 

ROBERT. 
Be  glad  that  you  have  them,  mother. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
Oh,  I  could  have  managed  quite  well  by  myself. 

ROBERT. 
Father  seems  able  to  bear  none  of  us  about  him —  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ  (crying). 

Just  as  if  I  had  done  him  any  harm!  Surely  I  have 
always  been  the  same  —  I  have  always  done  my 
best — Do  be  just,  Robert ! — I  have  cooked  him  his 
hot  dinners,  he's  had  his  warm  stockings — 

ROBERT. 

Ah,  leave  it  alone,  mother!  What  good  is  this  ever- 
lasting lamentation  ? 

88 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Yes,  that's  what  you  say.  It's  all  very  well  for  you ! 
But  if  you  have  worried  yourself  sick  all  your  life — 
if  one  has  beaten  one's  brain  to  know : — Have  I  done 
this  right  ?  have  I  done  that  right  ? — and  then  strange 
people  come,  and  one  sees  them  preferred  ! 

ROBERT. 
Ida  is  with  him  still  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

A  perfect  stranger ! — Ah,  I  might  as  well  be  dead — and 
that  lump ! — that  Friebe ! — Creature ! — The  airs  he 
gives  himself! — But  Gussie's  let  him  have  it ! — Gussie 
talked  to  him  pretty  straight!  The  fellow's  as 
impudent — he  wanted  to  push  her  out  of  the  room. 
The  girl  was  beside  herself ! — His  own  daughter ! 
No — You  children!  What  my  life  has  been! — I 
wouldn't  wish  a  dog  to  lead  it. 

ROBERT  (with  a  little  sigh,  involuntarily). 

Father  too ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
What? 

ROBERT. 

Oh,  nothing.     I  only  said,  father  too. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
What  about  him  ? 

ROBERT. 

Well,  father  too  has  had  a  good  deal  to  bear. 

89 


*  •  -•  m 

THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  in. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well  not  from  me,  anyhow.  I  haven't  troubled  him  much. 
I've  made  no  very  great  claims. 

ROBERT  (sceptically). 
Hja— tja— tja ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Just  wait  till  I'm  in  my  grave,  then  he'll  begin  to  see — 

ROBERT. 

Ah,  leave  it  alone,  mother !  I've  heard  that  hundreds  of 
times. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Maybe !     You'll  see  too,  and  before  very  long  either. 

ROBERT. 

Ah,  mother,  I  don't  deny  that  you've  had  a  lot  to  bear 
with  through  father.  You've  both  suffered.  But  I 
don't  see  why  you — 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Stuff  and  nonsense.  I  should  like  to  know  what  has  he 
ever  wanted  for  ? 

ROBERT  (incautiously). 
To  be  understood,  if  you  will  insist  on  knowing. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
I  can't  make  myself  cleverer  than  I  am. 

ROBERT. 

Nobody  asked  you  to  try.  Besides — it's  the  merest  folly 
to  talk  of  it  so  much. 

90 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Now  there's  an  end  of  everything — (Crying.)  After  all, 
it's  not  my  doing  that  he  lies  there  ill,  and — 

ROBERT. 
I  never  said  it  was. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

You  did.     That's  what  you  did  say. 

ROBERT. 

Ah,  mother — I'd  better  go.  I — mother,  I  really  can't  stand 
any  more. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

No !  t  should  just  like  to  know  what  I  have  to  reproach 
myself  with.  I  have  a  good  conscience. 

ROBERT. 

Then  keep  it,  in  God's  name  keep  it !  ( With  a  movement 
of  self-defence)  Only,  leave  off. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
You  mean  that  money  business,  I  suppose  ? 

ROBERT. 
I  mean  nothing. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

My  parents  earned  it  hardly  enough,  no  woman  would 
have  put  up  with  it !  Your  father  just  pitched  it 
out  of  window. 

ROBERT. 

But  your  uncle  lied  to  you  about  it. 

91 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 
You  can't  be  sure  of  that. 

ROBERT. 
And  father  earned  the  whole  over  again. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

He  might  as  well  have  gambled  with  it. 

[Robert  laughs  bitterly. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

I'm  only  a  poor  ignorant  woman.  Your  father  was 
always  above  me.  His  mother  was  quite  a  lady 
too.  But  my  father  was  once  as  poor  as  a  rat. 
I'll  never  get  the  chill  of  poverty  out  of  my  blood ! 
I  can't  alter  myself.  Well,  it's  all  the  same ! — for  the 
year  or  two  of  life  that's  left  me ! — The  Lord  will 
deliver  me  in  his  own  good  time. 

ROBERT. 
I  would  rather  be  delivered  from  the  Lord. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

For  shame !  What  a  scoundrelly  speech  !  Delivered  from 
the  Lord. — I  might  as  well  take  a  dagger  and  stab 
myself  here  in  the  heart — Frightful ! — Delivered  from 
the  Lord  ! — Where  should  I  have  been  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  Lord? — Are  you  really  going  away, 
Robert? 

ROBERT  (already  on  the  stairs). 

Oh,  be  quiet,  mother !     It's  peace  I  want,  peace ! — 

[Goes  up  the  stairs. 
.  92 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  dear,  dear  —  yes  —  amongst  you  all,  it  isn't  an  easy  life  ! 
(To  William  who  has  remained  the  whole  time  at  the 
table  without  paying  attention  to  them)  Just  think  !  — 
You  !  —  Robert's  going  ! 

WILLIAM. 
All  the  same  to  me  ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 


are  you  sitting  there  for  ?  —  That's  no  use.     Do  be 
sensible. 

WILLIAM  (sighing). 
Ah,  yes  ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

And  sighing's  no  use  !  Look  at  me,  at  my  age  —  and  if  I 
were  to  squat  myself  down  like  you  !  —  What's  done 
is  done  !  There's  no  changing  it  now.  Look  here  ! 
Read  something  !  Get  up,  take  a  book  and  amuse 
yourself  ! 

WILLIAM  (sighing). 

Oh  mother,  do  let  me  alone  —  I'm  troubling  nobody!  — 
Has  Friebe  come  back  from  the  Doctor's  ? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

No,  that  he  hasn't.  It's  what  I  always  say,  as  sure  as 
one  wants  a  doctor,  there  isn't  one  to  be  found. 

WILLIAM. 

It  is  serious,  isn't  it,  especially  if  —  that  were  to  happen 
again? 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Ah  God  !     Who  knows  ! 

93 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  in. 

[William  stares  at  his  motlier,  then  with  sudden 
passionate  sobs  lets  his  head  fall  in  his  hands. 

Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  who  would  have  thought  it!  I'm 
not  saying — I  blame  no  one,  but  just  to-day 
you  surely  might  have  kept  from  quarrelling. — 
However,  we  must  just  hope  for  the  best. — At  least 
his  mind's  not  wandering  any  more.  If  Ida  only 
doesn't  overlook  anything!  Any  one  of  us  would 
have  a  hundred  times  more  experience.  Why  he 
should  have  taken  so  to  Ida ! — I  don't  bite  ! — Though 
I  will  say  in  other  ways — Ida — she's  really  a  good 
girl — and  you  of  all  people !  (patting  him  on  his 
shoulders).  You  may  thank  the  Lord  !  You  might 
wait  long  enough  before  you'd  find  another  one  like 
Ida!  (Cautiously,  confidentially)  Tell  me, — are  the 
Buchners  well  off? 

WILLIAM  (roused). 

Oh  leave  me  alone!  How  should  I  know! — What  do  I 
care! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

What  now! — I  suppose  I've  a  right  to  ask! — You're  a 
perfect  bear ! 

WILLIAM. 

Ah  mother,  let  me  alone. — If  you  have  a  spark  of  pity  for 
me,  let  me  alone. — Don't  trouble  about  me,  let  me 
alone. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  yes,  of  course,  I'm  always  in  the  way.    An  old  woman 
— good  for  nothing  but  to  snap  at. 
94 


ACT  m.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

[Augusta  and  Mrs  Buchner  come  hastily  out  of 
Room  R. 

AUGUSTA. 
Mother ! 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Oh  Lord  !     What  now  ? 

AUGUSTA. 
Friebe  has  just  come. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Friebe  has  brought  no  doctor  with  him. 

AUGUSTA. 
Father  asked  him,  and  he  said — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
He  won't  have  any  doctor ! 

AUGUSTA. 
He's  furious,  he'll  throw  him  out  of  the  room. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Friebe  won't  go  again. 

AUGUSTA. 
You  come  and  speak  to  Friebe. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
Yes,  you  speak  to  him.     It  is  so  necessary! 

AUGUSTA. 

A  doctor  must  come — or  I'll  go  myself;  I'm  not  afraid, 
not  if  I  have  to  ran  all  the  way  to  Friedrichshafen. 
95 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

MRS  SCHOLZ. 

Well,  why  not  ? — But  it's  the  middle  of  the  night,  won't 
— just  let  me  come. 

[Mrs  Buchner,  Mrs  Scholz  and  Augusta  go  off 
hastily.  Mrs  Buchner  is  scarcely  out  before  she 
returns.  Whilst  speaking  she  has  looked  several 
times  furtively  and  with  a  grieved  expression  at 
William,  who  is  still  in  the  same  place,  silent  and 
gloomy.  Mrs  Buchner  looks  round  to  make  sure 
that  William  and  she  are  quite  alone.  At  first 
quickly,  then  with  hesitation  she  approaches  him. 

WILLIAM  (raising  his  head  as  she  goes  to  him). 
What  do  you  want  ? — I  told  you  everything  before. 

MRS  BUCHNER, 

But  I  wouldn't  believe  you ;  I  couldn't  picture  it  to  my- 
self. 

WILLIAM. 

And  now  you  believe  it  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 
I — don't — know. 

WILLIAM. 

Why  do  you  lie  to  me  ? — Say  straight  out,  yes.  It  was 
perfectly  natural  that  it  would  all  turn  out  like  this ; 
so  ridiculously  natural.  How  in  the  world  I  could 
have  been  so  blind ! 

MRS  BUCHNER  (with  feverish  eagerness). 

William,  I  take  you  to-day  as  I  always  have,  for  an 
honest,  honourable  man.     I  assure  you  that  not  for 
96 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

one  moment  have  I  doubted  you — even  now — when 
all  at  once  I'm  so  afraid  and  anxious. 

WILLIAM  (lifts  himself  up,  draws  a  deep  breath  as 
though  oppressed}. 

It's  only  what  I — I've  known  it  all  along. 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

I  come  to  you,  William,  I  speak  to  you  frankly ; — it  has 
all  come  upon  me  so  suddenly.  All  at  once  I  am  so 
terribly  anxious  about  Ida. 

WILLIAM. 
I  must  confess — only  just  now — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

I  know  well  you  love  the  child.  Nobody  could  love  her 
more  truly !  I  know  that  with  all  your  strength  you 
will  try  to  make  my  daughter  happy; — it  won't  be  your 
will  that  will  fail,  but  now  I  have — I  have  seen  and 
discovered  so  many  things.  It's  only  now  that  I  really 
understand  much — much  of  what  you  told  me.  I 
didn't  understand  you  ;  I  took  you  for  a  pessimist — 
in  some  things  I  scarcely  took  you  seriously  ! — I  came 
here  with  a  firm,  happy  faith.  I'm  really  ashamed ! 
The  confidence  I  had  in  myself! — I,  to  fancy  I  could 
influence  such  natures  ! — a  weak,  simple  creature  like 
me !  But  now  I'm  uneasy  about  it  all — now  all  at 
once  I  feel  my  heavy  responsibility.  I  am  responsible 
for  my  child — for  my  Ida.  Every  mother  is  responsible 
for  her  child !  Only  tell  me,  William,  tell  me  your-  ' 
self,  that  it  will  all  come  right — Say  to  me,  "  we  shall 
G  97 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  in. 


be  happy.  "  you  and 


my  dreapiSTjeedte^^W/^aw  —  [A  pause. 


"  WILLIAM. 

Why  did  you  let  it  go  so  far  ? — I  warned  you — and  warned 
you.  What  did  I  say  to  you  ?  I  said,  all  of  us,  every 
one  in  this  family,  are  sick,  incurables — I  most  of  all. 
That  we  all  drag  with  us — "  Don't  give  your  daughter 
to  a  maimed  creature,"  I  said  to  you — Why  wouldn't 
you  believe  ? 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

I  don't  know.     I  myself  don't  know. 

WILLIAM. 

Now  you  have  lulled  me  to  rest,  weakened  my  conscience 
— and  now  I  have  been  half  mad  with  happiness — 
I  have  tasted — lived  through  moments !  and  others 
besides.  The  most  frightful  battle  of  my  life,  and 
now  you  demand — now  one  must  consider — perhaps, 
yes,  perhaps — 

MRS  BUCHNER. 

William !  I  honour  you ! — I  know  that  you  would  make 
any  sacrifice.  But  Ida! — If  it  should  be  too  late 
for  her — if  it  were  to  be  her  ruin ! 

WILLIAM. 

\  Why  couldn't  you  believe  me?    You  don't  know  what 
\        that  cost  me ;   now  I  have   built  it  up   by  painful 
steps — step  by  step — so  painfully!    This  place  lay  far 
behind  me — I  was  almost  saved.     Now  to  pull  it  all 
down.   Why  need  you  have  let  it  go  so  far  ?    Why  ? — 
98 


ACT  m.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

MRS  BUCHNER  (with  tears). 

I  don't  know !     I  myself  don't  know !     I   brought  the 

child  up.     She  was  all  in  all  to  me  ;  to  work  for  her 

happiness  has  been  all  I  have  lived  for.     Then — you 

came  into  our  house.    I  grew  fond  of  you — I  thought 

of  your  happiness  too,  I — perhaps  I  ought  not  to 

have  done  that.     I  thought  perhaps  just  as  much 

of  your  happiness — and — who  knows  ? — In  the  end, 

most  of  all — of — your  happiness ! 

[During  a  minute  she  and  William  look  startled 

into  each  other's  eyes. 

WILLIAM. 
Mrs  Buchner !  !  ! 

[Mrs  Buchner,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  as  if 
in  shame,  goes  off  crying  through  the  stairway. 
William  follows  her  mechanically  a  few  steps, 
stops,  tries  to  master  his  inward  excitement,  then 
suddenly,  shaken  with  weeping,  leans  for  support 
against  the  wall.  Ida  enters,  her  face  pale,  look- 
ing serious  and  careworn,  comes  with  gentle  steps 
to  William,  embraces  him,  pressing  her  cheek  to 
his. 

IDA. 

Ah,  Willy,  sad  days  are  coming,  and,  and,  yes,  Willy, 
bright  days  will  come  again.  You  mustn't  give  way 
like  that — so  hopelessly. 

WILLIAM  (stammering  passionately). 

Ida! — You  only!     Dearest,  sweetest!     Only  say  how  I 
can — how  could  I  bear  my  life   now  without  you ! 
99 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

Your  voice,  jo.ur  words,  your  whole  sweet  wondrous 
presence,  your  hands — your  gentle,  faithful  hands. 


IDA. 

And  what  of  me  ?—  Wh^t.  do  ynii  t^ink  of  my  \\fei  without, 

will  pTing  to  each  other  and 
and  however  long  jt  lasts  — 


WILLIAM. 

Yes,  yes  !  but  supposing  anything  were  to  happen  ? 

IDA. 
Oh,  don't  speak  like  that  ! 

WILLIAM. 
I  only  mean  —  one  can  never  tell  —  one  of  us  might  die. 

IDA. 
Ah,  we  are  young. 

WILLIAM. 

Even  then  !  —  One  day  it  must  happen,  some  day,  and  I, 
at  any  rate,  shall  never  live  to  be  old. 

IDA  (passionately). 

Then  I  shall  fasten  my  arms  round  you  —  press  myself  to 
you  —  Then  I  shall  go  with  you. 

WILLIAM. 

Ida!     That  is  what  one  says.     But  you  would  never 
really  do  it. 

IDA. 
I  would  do  it  ! 

100 


ACT  m.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

You  think  so  now.     You  don't  know  how  quickly  one 
forgets. 

IDA. 
I  could  not  breathe  without  you. 

WILLIAM. 
That  is  what  one  fancies — 

IDA. 
No,  no,  no,  William ! — 

WILLIAM. 

But  to  love  like  that,  would  be  a  kind  of  madness.     One 
shouldn't  put  everything  on  the  turn  of  one  card. 

IDA. 
I — don't  quite  understand  you. 

WILLIAM. 

Why — I — you  see  (in  irritable  tones).     Ugh !     Darling, 
it's  not  an  enlivening  subject ! — How's  Father  ? 

IDA. 
He's  asleep  now !  but  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

WILLIAM  (walking  about). 

The  feeling  will  come,  no  one  knows  how.  (Suddenly 
grinding  his  teeth)  I  tell  you,  there  are  moments — 
when  that  rage  of  despair  seizes  you,  those  are  the 
moments — I  can  well  understand — in  those  moments 
a  man  might  throw  himself  head  first  from  five 
101 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

stories  high  on  to  the  pavement. — The  idea  becomes 
positively  alluring. 

IDA. 
God  forbid !     You  mustn't  give  way  to  such  ideas,  Willy ! 

WILLIAM. 

Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know?  What  should  such 
fellows  as  I  do,  crawling  between  heaven  and 
earth  ? — Useless  creatures !  Exterminate  themselves ! 
That  would  be  something.  They  would  at  least 
have  done  one  useful  thing. 

IDA. 

After  all,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  admire.  You  are  over- 
wrought and  exhausted. 

WILLIAM  (in  sharp,  unyielding  tones). 

Leave  me  in  peace,  can't  you  ?    What  do  you  understand 
of  all  that. — (Shocked  at  himself,  adds)  Ah,  love ! 
You  must  forgive  me.    You  had  better  leave  me  now 
— I  can  not  bear  to  wound  you.     And  in  this  mood, 
as  I  feel  now,  I  can't  answer  for  myself. 
[Ida  kisses  him  silently  on  the  mouth,  then  goes  into 
the  next  room.     William  looks  after  Iier,  stands 
still,  shows  fright  and  astonishment  in  his  face, 
and  strikes  his  forehead,  like  one  who  has  detected 
himself  on  the  track  of  an  evil  thought.     Mean- 
time, Robert  has  come  downstairs.     Robert,  his 
hat  in  his  right  hand,  overcoat  and  rug  over  his 
arm,  rug  straps  in  his  left  hand,  goes  to  the  table 
and  lays  his  things  down  on  it. 
102 


ACT  m.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM  (after  he  has  watched  him  a  moment  or  two). 
Where  are  you  going  ? 

ROBERT. 
Away. 

WILLIAM. 
Now? 

ROBERT. 

Why  not  ?  (spreading  out  his  straps)  I've  had  enough  of 
this  and  to  spare.  In  future  mother — mother  will 
celebrate  Christmas  without  me !  (Looks  round  at 
stove)  It's  cold  here. 

WILLIAM. 
It's  freezing  outside. 

ROBERT  (rolling  up  his  rug). 
There ! — Is  it  ?     It  was  thawing  about  ten  o'clock. 

WILLIAM. 
There's  a  change. 

ROBERT. 

How's  one  to  get  down  the  mountain  and  keep  one's 
footing  ? 

WILLIAM. 
There's  a  fine  moon. 

ROBERT. 

Yes,  but  still — 

WILLIAM. 

He's  not  delirious  any  longer. 

ROBERT. 
H'm,  h'm ! 

103 


• 

*  • 

THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  ra. 


WILLIAM. 
He  won't  have  a  doctor. 

ROBERT. 
H'm,  h'm ! 

WILLIAM. 

It's  all  come  so  suddenly,  one  hardly — 
^ 

ROBERT. 
H'm,  yes ! 

WILLIAM. 
It  must  have  been  latent  in  him. 

ROBERT. 
Of  course,  or  he  would  not  have  come  home. 

WILLIAM. 
I  dread  to  think  what'll  come  of  it. 

ROBERT. 
What's  one  to  do  ? 

WILLIAM. 

On  my  soul,  I  don't  know  what  /  should  do  if  he  died. 
Conscious  as  I  am,  knowing  what  I  now  know ! — I 
really  did  not  know,  and  now  the  added  remorse, 
the  gnawing  of  conscience !  Ah !  well,  what's  the 
use  of  it  all  ? 

ROBERT. 

Eh !  as  to  that !  one  would  have  enough  to  do.     The  old 
fellow  is  different,  not  what  we  imagined,  that's  true 
enough !     But  that  doesn't  change  matters. 
104 


v.   *«•'*      •*  * 

4  ^^  f  •p 

ACT  m.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 


I  tell  yp»r-ifr4s^aacred  earnest  to  me — I  would  lay  down 
this  pitifiil  life  of  mine  gladly,  if  it  would  do  him  any 
goodr 


)BERT. 

To  my  thinking,  there's  no  sense  in  that.  Now  just  look 
here  !  I  go  back  to  my  hot  little  den  of  an  office,  sit 
with  my  back  to  the  fire,  cross  my  legs  under  the  table, 
light  this  same  old  pipe,  and  write — in  peace  and 
quietness  of  mind,  I  hope — the  same  old  jokes,  you 
know  them, — the  old  chestnuts — African  traveller — 
nearly  spent — h'm,  and  then  I  generally  bring  along 
a  caravan,  which  takes  the  article  along  with  it. — 
My  chief  is  well  satisfied,  it  gets  copied  in  as  many 
papers  as  possible — and,  the  main  thing  is  that — ! 
Well,  I  sit  there,  and  the  gas  jet  hisses  over  my 
head  all  day  —  a  glance  now  and  then  into  the 
court — the  courtyard  of  a  warehouse  like  that  has 
something  marvellous  about  it — something  even 
romantic,  I  can  tell  you — in  a  word  I'm  not  troubled 
with  any  bees  in  my  bonnet. 

WILLIAM. 


ROBERT. 

Matter  of  taste  ! — For  me,  that's  just  an  ideal  nook — Is 
one  to  be  always  getting  shaken  off  one's  balance, 
always  letting  oneself  be  driven  crazy? — It'll  take 
me  a  good  two  or  three  days  now  to  pick  up 
my  scattered  philosophy. 
105 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

WILLIAM. 
Say  what  you  will,  I  call  that  cowardly. 

ROBERT. 

And  then — If  it  is !  Sooner  or  later,  you  will  come  to 
think  as  I  do.  Father  himself  had  at  last  got  to 
that  standpoint.  Father  and  you,  you  are  as  alike 
as  two  peas.  You  are  both  idealists  of  the  same 
sort.  In  '38  father  started  on  the  barricades,  and  he 
finishes  up  as  a  hypochondriacal  hermit — One  must 
get  accustomed  to  the  world  and  to  oneself  in  time, 
that's  the  thing ;  before  one  has  finished  sowing  one's 
wild  oats. 

WILLIAM. 

Or  else  work  at  oneself,  to  become  something  different. 

ROBERT. 

I  think  I  see  myself!  What  I  am,  I  am.  I  have  the 
right  to  be,  whatever  I  am. 

WILLIAM. 
Then  claim  your  right  openly. 

ROBERT. 

Not  I,  for  I  mean  to  have  it.  The  Philistine  morality- 
mongers  are  in  the  majority  at  present.  Anyhow 
it's  time  for  me  to  be  off.  And  if  I  were  to  offer 
you  a  bit  of  advice,  it  would  be,  beware  of  so-called 
good  intentions ! 

WILLIAM  (coldly). 

How  do  you  mean  ? 

106 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

ROBERT. 

Simply  that ;  it's  no  use  to  think  of  accomplishing  some- 
thing which  entirely  contradicts  one's  whole  natural 
bent. 

WILLIAM. 
As,  for  instance  ? 

ROBERT. 

Oh! — for  instance,  fellows  come  to  me  sometimes,  who 
babble  ideals  to  me  till  my  head  swims.  Fight  for 
the  ideals  of  humanity,  and — God  knows  what  all ! 
I — fight  for  other  people!—  Childish! — Why,  and  what 
for  ?  But  you,  that  just  suits  you.  You  would  rush 
round  like  a  runaway  thief.  "  What  a  wretch  I  have 
been,"  you  would  keep  on  telling  yourself !  Aren't  I 
right  ?  Well,  and  then  on  the  top  would  come  the 
good  intentions,  and  they  get  hold  of  you,  I  know. 
/  used  to  go  about  hung  round  with  hundreds  of 
those  good  intentions — for  years  together — and  it's 
not  pleasant,  I  can  tell  you. 

WILLIAM. 
I  don't  really  know  what  you  are  driving  at. 

ROBERT. 

Nothing  very  definite.  This  unrest,  from  which  you  are 
suffering  now,  has  no  doubt  other  causes — At  least 
I — if  I  once  noticed — there  was  a  time  when  I  went 
through  something  of  the  sort,  but  once  I  noticed 
that  the  business  was  likely  to  be  stronger  than  I — 
I  generally  made  short  work  of  it,  and  turned  my 
back. 

107 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  IIL 

WILLIAM. 
Is  that  a  hint  ? 

ROBERT. 

Hint?     I  didn't  know — well,  once  more — good  luck  to 
you  and — 

WILLIAM. 

But  just  tell  me — it  has  a  certain  objective  interest  for  me 
— only  because — 

ROBERT. 

Pray,  what  do  you  want  to  know  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Just  now  you  said  something. 

ROBERT. 

How — just  now  ? 

WILLIAM. 
When  we  were  speaking  of  father. 

ROBERT. 

Ah,  true,  yes ; — what  did  I  say  ? 

• 

WILLIAM. 
You  said,  it  might  perhaps  turn  out  well  for  Ida  and  me. 

ROBERT. 
Ah,  yes,  your  engagement ; — was  that  what  I  said  ? 

WILLIAM. 
That's  what  you  said. 

ROBERT. 

H'm,  I  said  many  things. 

108 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

That  is  to  say,  you  have  changed  your  mind  about  a  good 
deal  of  what  you  said. 

ROBERT. 
Quite  true,  so  I  have. 

WILLIAM. 
And  even — about  that — very  thing — 

ROBERT. 
Your  engagement  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Yes. 

ROBERT. 
It's  important  to  you  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Yes,  perhaps. 

ROBERT. 
Yes. 

WILLIAM. 

You  no  longer  think — that  we — 

ROBERT. 
No. 

WILLIAM. 

Good — Thanks — You  are  candid — I  thank  you — But  let 
us  suppose, — say  that  I  did  turn  my  back  on  the 
whole  affair — leave  on  one  side  all  thought  of  what 
it  would  cost  me,  say  I  were  to  go  straight  off  with 
you — then  what — about — Ida  ? 
109 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  IIL 

ROBERT. 

H'm,  Ida — Ida? — (Shrugs  his  shoulders).  H'm,  yes.  That's 
not  so  quickly — at  least — that  wouldn't  trouble  me 
over  much. 

WILLIAM. 

Ah  !  That's  your  old  selfishness  ! ! !  Now  I  recognise 
you. 

ROBERT. 

Selfish?  How?  No,  that's  just  your  mistake!  I  am 
not  deeply  enough  interested  to  be  selfish — interested 
in  this  particular  matter,  I  mean.  I  really  don't 
believe — 

WILLIAM. 

I  know  better.  You  don't  suppose  you  can  teach  me 
how  to  understand  this  girl  ?  Once  for  all,  it  is  so. 
Depend  upon  it — she  has  that  sort  of  feeling  for  me, 
which — well,  I  can't  alter  it.  You  needn't  think  me 
conceited — But,  you  see,  what's  to  become  of  her, 
if  I  should  go  ? 

ROBERT. 

H'm,  you  really  ask  yourself — that — seriously — 

WILLIAM. 
Most  seriously — I  do — indeed. 

ROBERT. 

Just  oblige  me  by  answering  this  one  question  first.  If 
you  were  to  marry,  what  would  Ida  become  then  ? 

WILLIAM. 

That  no  one  can  know. 

110 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

ROBERT. 
Oh  yes,  but  one  can : — mother ! 

WILLIAM. 

As  if  mother  is  to  be  compared  with  Ida ! 

ROBERT. 
But  you  with  father. 

WILLIAM. 
Every  man  is  a  new  man. 

ROBERT. 

That's  what  you'd  like  to  believe !  Let  it  alone.  You're 
asking  too  much  of  yourself.  You  yourself  are  the 
embodied  argument  against  it. 

WILLIAM. 
I  don't  believe  it. 

ROBERT. 
You  know  it  well  enough. 

WILLIAM. 
After  all  one  can  make  oneself  into  something. 

ROBERT. 
If  one  is  brought  up  that  way. 

WILLIAM. 
Teh !     There's  no  sense  in  talking  about  it. 

ROBERT. 
Entirely  my  opinion. 

Ill 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  in. 


WILLIAM. 


t  leas. J» 


You   all   want  to  ruin  me — 

out 
1 


ft 


ROBERT. 


utterly 

Father's  very  words. 

WILLIAM. 

Ridiculous — Your  remarks  are  simply  ridiculous — Haven't 
I  reason  enough  for  what  I'm  saying?  Don't  you 
want  to  part  me  from  Ida?  It  is — simply! — I 
haven't  words  enough! — The  absurdity  of  it!  The 
brutality  beyond  belief!  —7  am  to  have  pity  on  Ida ! 
Who  has  pity  on  me! — Tell  me  that!  Name  me 
any  one  person — who  ? 

ROBERT. 

Naturally ! — When  that's  the  way  you  speak,  naturally ! 
WILLIAM. 

The  sacrifices  demanded  of  me! — The  most  senseless 
outrageous  sacrifices !  I'm — 

ROBERT. 

You  can  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  talking ;  if  that's 
the  case — You  are  in  your  rights,  keep  the  girl. 

WILLIAM. 

If  that's  the  case !     If  what's  the  case,  pray  ?    Just  tell 

me ! 

ROBERT. 

You  spoke  of — Ida  a  while  ago — if  I  remember — 

112 


ACT  in.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 


Well— what  then  ? 


WILLIAM. 


ROBERT. 


Now  it  seems  you're  speaking  of  yourself — H'm,  plainly — 
if  you  are  indifferent  as  to  what  becomes  of  the  girl, 
if  you  have  the  desirable  dose  of — well  call  it  reck- 
lessness— if  you  take  her,  as  you  would  a  new  coat 
or  hat  or  something — 

WILLIAM. 

Robert! — Heartless  through  and  through  as  you  are — 
you're  right  this  time.  I'm  with  you,  out  of  this 
place — That  is,  I'll  go  with  you  a  little  way,  not 
far,  and  now,  now  I've  done  with  all  of  you — Yes, 
yes,  now  I'm — don't  speak ! — now  I've  really  done — 
absolutely — (Robert  looks  at  him  astonished,  and 
shrugs  his  shoulders.  With  increasing  vehemence) 
Don't,  don't  trouble  yourself — it's  no  good !  You  can't 
do  it — you  can't  take  me  in  with  your  harmless  quiet. 
You're  in  the  right,  but  what  has  put  you  in  the 
right,  what  has  made  you  so  clear-sighted  ?  Shall  I 
tell  you?  Jealousy — miserable  jealousy — nothing 
else — simply  pitiful  malice! — You  know  very  well 
that  I  should  fight  honestly — try  to  be  a  little  worthier 
of  her.  You  know  very  well  that  with  her  purity, 
this  girl  has  power  to  purify  me! — But  you  don't 
want  that !  You  don't  want  to  see  me  cleansed ! — 
Why  not  ? — Because  you — you  yourself  must  always 
be  what  you  have  been — because  it  is  me  she  loves, 
and  never  you !  And  so  the  whole  evening  you  have 
shadowed  me  with  your  detective  looks — for  ever 
H  113 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

there  to  remind  me  you  know  me  for  what  I  am  I 
Yes  !  You  are  right ! — I  am  sin-stained  through  and 
through ! — Nothing  left  of  me  is  pure.  Tainted,  I 
have  nothing  in  common  with  her  innocence — and  I 
am  determined  not  to  commit  this  crime.  But  you, 
Robert! — That  makes  you  none  the  purer;  give 
thanks  that  you  no  longer  can  feel  shame ! 
[Robert  during  the  last  part  of  William's  speech  has 

taken  his  things  and  gone  towards  the  door.     He 

stands,  hand  on  the  latch,  as  if  going  to  speak. 

Thinks  better  of  it,  shrugs  his  shoulders  resignedly, 

and  goes  out  very  quietly. 

WILLIAM  (calling  after  him). 
Robert !     Robert ! 

IDA  (coming  from  next  room). 
Whom  are  you  calling  ? 

WILLIAM. 
Ah,  it's  you. 

IDA. 

The  doctor's  there,  William,  he  says  it  is  very  serious,  it — 
[Voice  of  Mrs  Scholz  heard  wailing,  "My  dear  good 
husband.     Ah  ! — ah,  my  dear  kind  husband  !  " 

WILLIAM. 
What  have  I  done !     What  have  I  done  now  ? 

IDA. 

It  crushes  my  heart.     I  would  like  not  to  ask  you — but 

something  must — something's  the  matter,  Willy ! 

114 


ACT  in.    THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

Nothing.  I  want  to  be  out  there  in  solitude  again.  That 
is  where  I  should  be.  Our  place  is  there,  Ida. 

IDA. 
Why  ? — I  can't  understand. 

WILLIAM  (hastily  and  violently). 

Yes,  yes,  yes — the  old  story — :  I  don't  understand,  I  don't 
understand! — Mother  and  father  have  spoken  different 
languages  all  their  lives ;  you  don't  understand,  you 
don't  know  me !     You  have  stale  schoolgirl  illusions 
and  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  all  that,  only  to  hide 
away  from  you,  hide — hide  away,  until  there's  nothing 
of  me  but  the  miserable  traitor  and  scoundrel — 
[Ida,  after  looking  dazed  at  William,  bursts  into 
tears. 

WILLIAM. 

There,  you  see,  this  is  my  real  self.  I  need  only  for  one 
moment  to  forget  my  part,  the  part  I  play  before  you 
and  my  true  self  appears.  You  can't  bear  me  as  I 
really  am.  You  cry,  and  you  would  cry,  year  out, 
year  in,  if  I  did  not  have  pity  on  you. — No,  Ida,  it 
must  come  to  an  end  between  us.  I've  come  to  that 
fixed  resolve. 

IDA  (throwing  herself  on  his  neck). 
That's  not  true !     That  is  not,  that  never  shall  be  true. 

WILLIAM. 

what  you  have  seen  here  to-day ;  shall  we  start 
the  game  afresh  ? — Shall  we  build  this  nome  again  ? 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  in. 

IDA. 
It  would  be  different  !     It  would  be  better,  William. 

WILLIAM. 

How  can  you  say  that  ? 

IDA. 

I  feel  it. 

WILLIAM. 


But  you  are  throwing  yournrlf  tn 


dragging  you  to  your  ruin. 


IDA. 

I'm  not  afraid  of  that,  William,  not  the  least  afraid  !  Only 
have  faith  again  !  Only  give  me  your  hand  again ! 
Then  I  can  be  something  to  you. — Don't  push  me  away. 

WILLIAM. 

Xet  me  go ! — You  are  in  love  for  the  first  time ! — You 
love  an  illusion.  I  have  thrown  myself  in  the  gutter 
time  after  time.  I  have  degraded  womanhood  with 
other  women. — I  am  an  outcast — 

IDA  (sobbing  and  crying,  embraces  him). 
You  are  mine,  you  are  mine  ! 

WILLIAM. 
I  am  not  fit  for  you ! 

IDA. 

Oh,  dorit  say  that !     I  am  so  small  before  you,  so  small ! 

— Like  a  little,  little  moth.     William,  I  am  nothing 

without  you — everything  through  you; — don't  take 

your  hand  away  from  me. — I  am  so  lost  without  you. 

116 


ACT  in.     THE  COMING  OF  PEACE 

WILLIAM. 

IDA!!!   i— ?  /— 

[They  embrace  and  kiss  between  laughing  and  crying. 
I  am  not  to  take — my  hand  from  you — what  are  you 
saying — what — why,  you — bad — 

IDA. 
Now — promise  me — now — 

WILLIAM. 

I  swear  to  you  now — 

[A  piercing  scream  from  the  next  room  cuts  his 
words  short.  Startled  and  terrified  they  stand 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  Voice  of  Mrs 
Scholz: — "My  husband's  dying,  my  dear  good 
Fritz  is  dying,  my  husband  !  " — Loud  crying.] 

WILLIAM. 

My  God !— What  ?— Father !  !  !     Father !  !  ! 

[Is  about  to  rush  into  next  room,  Ida  stops  him. 

IDA. 

William  ! — Control  yourself,  and — don't  go  without  me. 
[Friebe  comes  shaking  with  sobs  out  of  the  next 
room  and  disappears  into  the  kitchen.] 

AUGUSTA  (follows  Friebe  in;  stopping  in  front  of 
William,  she  moans  at  him). 

Who — is  to  blame  now,  who — who  ? 

[She  sinks  with  head  and  arms  on  a  table,  a  muffled 
moaning  is  wrung  from  her.    Mrs  Scholz  is  still 
heard  crying  loudly  in  next  room. 
117 


THE  COMING  OF  PEACE    ACT  m. 

WILLIAM  (breaking  out). 
Augusta ! 

IDA  (her  hands  on  William's  breast,  in  trembling  tones :) 

William — I  think — your  father — is  dead. 

[William  is  again  near  an  outbreak,  but  Ida  calms 
him  ;  he  controls  his  emotion,  possesses  himself  of 
Ida's  hand,  which  he  grips  in  his  own,  and  hand 
in  hand  they  go  with  firm  and  quiet  steps  out  into 
the  next  room.] 


118 


NOTES 


Title-page.  The  Coming  of  Peace.  This  is  a  somewhat  free 
translation  of  the  title  of  Hauptmann's  play.  Friedensfest 
means  literally  the  Feast  or  Festival  of  Peace,  but  the  English 
title  we  have  chosen  seemed  more  euphonious  and  has  besides 
a  bearing  on  the  end  of  the  play,  when  the  old  man  at  any- 
rate  enters  into  his  rest. 

P.  6.  O  Gottogottogott !  The  effect  of  this  exclamation, 
which  Mrs  Scholz  uses  all  through  the  play,  cannot  be  repro- 
duced in  English.  We  have  tried,  in  the  translation,  by 
joining  the  words  with  a  hyphen,  to  give  as  far  as  might 
be  the  look  of  one  word.  Oh  Godohgodohgod !  would  only 
have  puzzled  readers.  Even  in  speaking,  the  change  from  the 
t  to  d  makes  the  attempt  to  pronounce  the  exclamation  as 
one  word  almost  impossible.  Moreover  to  English  eyes  and 
ears  "Oh  God"  of  course  carries  a  weight  quite  incongruous 
in  Mrs  Scholz's  chatter.  Here,  as  in  many  other  places,  we 
were  unable  to  arrive  at  an  entirely  satisfactory  equivalent 
for  the  German. 

P.  16.  That s  an  inhuman  hand!  This  cannot  be  called  a 
translation.  Mrs  Scholz  says:  "Aus  dem  Grabe  wachsen 
solche  Hande ! "  She  here  alludes  to  an  old  German  saying 
still  quoted  among  the  peasantry,  which  declares  that  the 
hand  of  anyone  guilty  of  striking  a  parent  would,  after  death, 
point  upward  from  the  grave  in  ceaseless  self -accusation.  We 
have  been  unable  to  find  any  similar  superstition  in  English 
folk-lore. 


119 


MODERN   PLAYS 

EDITED   BY 

R.  BRIMLEY  JOHNSON  AND  N.  ERICHSEN. 
NOW   READY 


HENRIK  IBSEN 

"  Love's  Comedy  "  (Kjosrlighedens  Komedie). 
—  Professor  C.  H.  HERFORD 

EMILE  VERHAEREN 

"  The  Dawn  "  (Les  Aubes).  —  ARTHUR  SYMONS 

AUGUST  STRINDBERG 

"  The  Father"  (Fadreri).—N.  ERICHSEN 

OSTROVSKY 

"  The  Storm."  —  CONSTANCE  GARNETT 

MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

"  Inte'rieur."  —  WILLIAM  ARCHER 
"  La  Mort  de  Tintagiles."!     ALFRED 
"  Alladine  et  Palomides."J~ALFRED 
1vol. 

GERHART  HAUPTMANN 

"  The  Coming  of  Peace  "  (Das  Friedensfest). 
—  JANET  ACHURCH  and  C.  E.  WHEELER 

EARLY   VOLUMES 


SERGIUS  STEPNIAK 

"  The  Convert."  —  CONSTANCE  GARNETT 

BRIEUX 

"Les  Bienfaiteurs."  —  LUCAS  MALET 

Arrangements  are  also  in  progress  with  representative 
dramatists  of  Spain,  Italy,  and  other  countries.  Further 
translations  have  been  promised  by  Dr  GARNETT,  Messrs 
WALTER  LEAF,  G.  A.  GREENE,  EDGAR  PRESTAGE,  etc. 


